


Giant Little Animals

by Harishe



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Awesome Natasha Romanov, Banter, Blood and Violence, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton is hilarious, Clint Barton-centric, Could a Slow Burn be any Slower, Deaf Clint Barton, Disability, F/M, Heavy Angst, Human Disaster Clint Barton, Magic, Modern day speech patterns in a medieval setting, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Non-Consensual Touching, Not really all that sexual though, POV Clint Barton, Possible Character Death, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Violence, Whump, but only briefly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:54:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 62,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23369545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harishe/pseuds/Harishe
Summary: Clint's life had never been easy. He'd struggled for just about everything he'd ever had. Now a mystery woman shows up telling him that there's some sort of big baddie after him? Perfect. This just seems to be getting better and better.Fantasy AU with Norse themes in which Clint and Natasha first meet and battle the forces of evil.(Yes, I'm aware that I have no idea what the word 'summary' means)Will update tags and warnings as they come up.Also, I know the first few chapters aren't... stellar, but I do improve as I go. It's my first fic and I started without a beta.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 83
Kudos: 41





	1. Getting Stabbed is the Worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Clint let his mind wander a bit when he started to smell something burning. Looking at the spit, he saw that he had stopped his rotation and the rabbit was now charred on one side. “Aw, rabbit. No.” he muttered as he started rotating it once again._
> 
> Clint and Natasha encounter each other for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be gentle, it's my first time...

_Okay…_ He thinks as he plummets from the top of the tower, bow in hand, grimacing with the effort of aiming after being thrown from the window. _This looks bad._ Thick glass shards rain down around him, making it difficult to see his target. Quickly, he exhales and releases his arrow. Immediately he attempts to twist and control his fall, failing miserably. He lands heavily on a carriage, crashing through the roof with a bang and the soft tinkling of glass landing around him. That was definitely going to cost him. He knew he’d made the shot, so it was worth the pain. There was no way they lived through that. The crash landing spooked the horses into action. Rearing back, they took off galloping, carrying his unconscious form away.

The woods are a funny thing. They’re seemingly endless, and near close to it. At least, that’s how Clint felt about it, as he’d been wandering in them for the last few days. His pack getting lighter and lighter as he travels. It felt as though he’d been walking in circles.

It was only supposed to take a day and a half to venture in, get rid of the Draugr nest, get back to the tavern to collect the reward. He’d managed to find and neutralize them, but in doing so caused a cave-in that blocked his way back out. After hours in the dark, he finally emerged from another exit, taking time to calm his racing heart. Clint took heaving breaths of the chill fresh air to remind himself he wasn’t still in the dank and musty cave. Having such little visibility was terrifying. He’d spent the entire time with his knife in one hand, the other trying to futilely keep his pitiful torch lit.

Now it was nearing dark, and Clint desperately needed to find something to eat before bedding down for the night. Almost as soon as the thought entered his mind, a small rabbit emerged from the brush a fair distance in front of him.

Clint grinned as he silently drew his bow and nocked an arrow. Tensing the line, his back muscles tighten and lock. He slows his breathing, and exhales. Relaxing his hand, he fires and…. STRIKES!! As the arrow pierced the rabbit’s neck, it didn’t even have time to flinch before it died.

Stringing the carcass to his pack, Clint began looking for a defensible spot for the night. He needed something to put his back to to be able to actually sleep. Was there even anything like that in these woods? Looking up into the foliage, he could barely make out the sky through the leaves. It felt pretty hopeless.

After nearly another hour of walking, he managed to find a large boulder next to a thick gathering of trees and underbrush. He swiftly made camp with a fire only large enough to cook his meal and began skinning the rabbit. He sighed as he saw what little meat there actually was on it. Setting it on the spit, he sighed again as he began slowly rotating his pittance of a meal.

Clint let his mind wander a bit when he started to smell something burning. Looking at the spit, he saw that he had stopped his rotation and the rabbit was now charred on one side. “Aw, rabbit. No.” he muttered as he started rotating it once again.

“You really ought to pay closer attention when you’re cooking out in the middle of nowhere.” A soft, but heavily accented feminine voice said from his right. 

Clint jumped, knocking the spit over and his meal into the flames. He slumped his shoulders and reached for another stick while eyeing the new comer warily. She had vibrant red hair that he could see even in the dim lighting she held herself in.

“And you shouldn’t be sneaking up on strangers in the dark. I could’ve been some sort of bandit or something.” Clint huffed out in response. He was trying, miserably, to rescue his meal from the coals.

He heard the woman suck on her teeth and watched her slowly move closer. As she stepped into the weak circle of light, he could see how shapely she was in her black leather breeches and matching black cotton jerkin. Her pale skin, blushed by the light of the dying fire, looked smooth. If they’d met in a tavern he may have even tried flirting with her, if it weren’t for the dangerous expression she wore. It screamed at him that she could definitely take care of herself. Eyeing the two unusually short swords, too long to be called daggers, on her hips, he turned back to the task at hand.

“You’ve just got a look about you that says otherwise.” she said before squatting down opposite him.

He hmm’d, brushing the dirt and ash from his meal. At least now there was no doubt that it was cooked. “Usually people just say -ah- ‘you’ve just got one of -ah- those faces’ when they -ah ah- want to insult me.” He said through a mouthful of still hot meat, breathing through the burn. The woman pursed her lips, drawing attention to them. 

“ _What_ are you?” she finally asked after a pause.

Clint frowned and wiped the grease from his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m not sure that’s very polite after sneaking up like you did.”

The woman smiled, shifted slightly. “I wasn’t really sneaking, you just weren’t paying attention.” She said nodding at his burnt meal. “And the polite thing to do would be to offer to share your meal with a fellow traveler.” Clint huffed as he shook his head. 

“No traveler in their right mind would be in these woods alone at night. There were draugr about until recently.” Her eyes widened so slightly that he wouldn’t have noticed had he not been watching intently. 

“You took care of the nest.” It wasn’t a question. Clint nodded and took another too hot bite, feeling more grease drip down his chin.

She hummed softly, finally sitting on the ground and placing her feet flat in front her. She tilted her head and rested her hands on her knees. The woman was obviously unafraid of Clint, or just confident enough that it really didn’t matter. “I saw the mess you left behind. I’m honestly a little surprised you survived that cave in.” Clint chuckled and shook his head once again. 

“I nearly didn’t. Got knocked around a bit before managing to find my way out of the debris.” He said, gesturing to the bandages stuck to himself. He was essentially covered. They were wrapped around both forearms, left shoulder and sporadically stuck across his face.

She tilted her head again and pursed her lips. “What are you?”

Clint stared for a minute, slowly chewing his food. “I am a Clint, lady.” he growled out once he’d swallowed. Who asks a question like that? The woman continued staring as though he hadn’t spoken though. “What are _you_?” he asked haughtily when she didn’t respond.

Her lip twitched, almost as though she were about to smile but aborted the movement. “Maybe what is best saved for another time. My name is Natasha though.” She arched her back slightly, as though to stretch, before settling back into her seated position. “You know you walked in the opposite direction of town, right?” This time she did smirk.

“You’ve got to be **futzing** kidding me!” He nearly shouted as he dropped his hands and looked up into the dark canopy. Taking in a steadying breath, he froze and looked at Natasha. “Wait, that means you walked in the wrong direction too.” Clint pointed at her with the remains of his meal, “Why would you do that?”

“Honestly? It was because whoever did that much damage was either very skilled or very lucky to be able to walk away and I had to find out which.” She cocked an eyebrow, “I’d say very lucky, looking at the state of you though.” This lady was really starting to piss him off. That was a poor excuse for tracking him down and they both knew it.

“Look lady,” Clint took the last bite and tossed the remains as far as he could before narrowing his eyes at her. “I’m glad I sated your curiosity, but I think it’s time you went off on your own merry little way.” He shooed her with his hands and grabbed his pack. Not wanting to lay down while she was still so close, he looked pointedly at her.

Natasha watched him for another moment before gracefully rising to her feet. “I’ll see you later Clint.” She said before turning and walking off into the woods. Almost immediately it was as though she hadn’t been there at all.

“What in the actual hell?” Clint huffed out as he lay his head on his pack.

It had taken Clint forever to actually fall asleep. He kept expecting Natasha to come back and slit his throat for his meager possessions. Their brief interaction unnerved him in a way he couldn’t express. Was it the deadpan way she spoke? Maybe it was the intensity in her eyes. That was not the way people usually looked at one another. Clint felt like she was looking into him in a way that offered only her some additional understanding. 

He shook his head and slung his pack over one shoulder while kicking dirt onto the coals of his fire. Looking around, Clint saw his path from yesterday. Was Natasha telling the truth? Had he really been walking in the opposite direction the entire time? There was no reason she would have lied, unless she was luring him into a trap. Shaking his head, Clint decided to backtrack. He was already lost, listening to the redhead couldn’t possibly make it worse.

Hours later, Clint was feeling every scrape and bruise he’d received the previous day. He groaned as he leaned against a tree trunk. Maybe Natasha had sent him further into the forest. She had no reason to lie, but she had to reason to tell the truth either. The sun was almost directly overhead at this point. If Clint wasn’t careful, he’d end up sleeping on the ground again tonight. It had only taken him half a day to reach the nest. Groaning again, he pushed his shoulder off the tree trunk and began walking again. 

After only a few minutes of walking, Clint heard the sound of horses. He picked up his pace, veering slightly to the left to try and meet whoever was nearby.

As he came upon them, he stopped short, eyes widening comically. An elderly couple was driving the wagon, but it was who was in the back that surprised him.

Natasha sat with her back straight, and her legs dangling off the back, watching him with a small smile. Of course she’d be traveling in this direction. She’d even parted ways saying she’d see him again. How stupid could he be?

“Well hey there stranger.” She shifted herself closer to one side and patted the now open seat next to her. “Gunhild and Ivar! There’s a man behind us that also needs a ride.” She raised her voice as she spoke.

The elderly couple stopped their horses before barely turning back to see to answer her. “As long as you think he’ll behave himself Natasha dear.”

Clint glared at her. Why would she think he’d actually travel with her? She was obviously attempting to lure him into something. What, he didn’t know though. “I think I’ll be fine walking, thanks.” He eyed the wagon for another moment before continuing on.

Natasha let out a huff as she closed her eyes and shook her head. “There’s no reason for you to be pushing yourself when you’re obviously injured.”

Clint paused again, he _was_ in pain. Every step was getting more difficult with the pain in his ribs and shoulder, he’d thought he’d been hiding it pretty well though. He desperately wanted to hitch a ride and lay back in the hay for a while. Natasha pointing it out only frustrated him further though. How much pride was too much when you were in pain? If only she weren’t here, he could be relaxing and on his way back into town. 

“I won’t bite, you know.” She said, interrupting his thoughts. “I’ve got nothing to gain from you unless I manage to pry that beautiful bow from you.” Natasha held her hands up, palms facing out in a non threatening manner.

Clint sighed as he hung his head. “I don’t get you lady.”

The sound of her laughter made his head snap up to stare at her, wide eyed again. Was she actually laughing at him? And for what? He wasn’t the confusing one. Somehow she was running circles around him while Clint didn’t know they were racing. Shaking the disbelief away, he made his way over to the wagon and levered himself in with a grunt and a small wince. Maybe he was in a bit more pain than he wanted to admit.

Natasha twisted herself towards the front of the wagon. “We’re ready to move on!” she shouted and turned back to Clint, “It should only take us another hour or so to make it into town now. You should use the time to rest.”

Clint scoffed. She assumed a lot about him and he wasn’t feeling very fond of it. “As you wish Lady,” He chuffed out as he flopped back into the hay. What was with this woman? Everything she said was friendly enough on the surface. Clint put a hand under his head as he pondered it further. Her deadpan tone and lack of facial expressions, or maybe the fact that she suppressed them, was what was throwing him off. The woman obviously knew how to handle herself. She’d told him that what she was was better left for later. What did that even mean?

“Why are you here?” It was out of his mouth before he even realized he’d voiced the question. Clint tensed and watched her warily.

Natasha smirked and continued looking at the road behind the cart. She kept her back straight, but swung her feet slightly as they hung off the edge. "Maybe I find you interesting and I’m actually leading you to your doom while trying to figure you out.”

Clint pursed his lips before barking out a laugh. “Lady, I don’t know why you’d be interested in anything about me beyond me being male.” He looked at her with a small smile and a raised eyebrow. “Is that why you’re so interested?” His eyebrows waggled as he spoke.

“Well, if that’s why they call you the _Amazing Hawkeye_ then, sure. Why not?” Her own small smile on her red lips.

Clint froze. Did she really just say that? _Amazing Hawkeye_. That was a name he hadn’t heard in years. How? How could she possibly know that name? Moving his hand slowly to the bow next to him, Clint narrowed his eyes. He’d been ready for just about anything at this point, but this was not part of that anything. Being part of a troupe of performers had taught him a lot of things, mostly a general distrust for humanity as a whole. Especially since everyone leaves.

Proud of himself for suppressing a flinch as she gently placed a hand on his knee, Clint kept a firm grip on his bow. Warmth bled through his breeches from her hand. This woman was dangerous, there was no doubt about it. Her thumb was rubbing small circles on his knee. “You seem to know me, but I still don’t know you.” Clint licked his lips as he took his hand from under his head to gently grasp her wrist. “Are you following me?”

Natasha didn’t stop her small circles. “What would you do if I said yes?” She had a dangerous glint to her eye even though her posture was non threatening.

Clint groaned as he sat up. “I’d say you’re wasting your time. I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling.” Making eye contact he tightened his hold on her wrist before releasing it. “You with those Sun Heads? Cause, I gotta say, you don’t look the type.”

Clint jumped as she laughed. It was rich and authentic. “No Clint, I’m not with the New Dawn. You’ve managed to make enough of a name for yourself that you interest me.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Clint sighed before leaning on the side of the wagon. He frowned at her. “Alright, fine.” Natasha raised an eyebrow in question to his sudden acceptance. He chuckled and shook his head slightly. “Most people confuse me with that magic pugilist guy anyhow. I guess it’s nice to be recognized.” Nodding in acknowledgement, they fell into an uneasy silence for the rest of their journey.

Finally reaching the small town was a relief for Clint. Here he could hopefully leave Natasha behind. He leapt off the wagon before it came to a full start and thanked the couple. The tavern was close and all he wanted was an ale and something softer than the forest floor to sleep on. The bounty on those draugr would definitely carry him though the next few towns. It seemed as though the entire community had come together to hire someone. Most wouldn’t want to deal with an entire nest, even if only because of the smell. Lucky for them Clint was on just the right side of desperate. Thinking of the smell, he gave himself a cursory sniff and quickly recoiled. He desperately needed a bath.

Picking up his pace, Clint quickly glanced behind him only to find Natasha sauntering behind him. The girl had grace, he had to give her that much. He shifted his bow on his shoulder to better balance with his pack and quiver. Walking into the tavern, there were only a few people in and most eyed him warily despite having been in here only a couple of days ago. Accustomed to the looks, Clint made his way to the owner. “Took care of your little problem.” He announced as he leaned his forearms on the counter.

The man set his mug and rag to the side and mirrored Clint’s posture with his own meaty arms. “Did ya now lad?” Taking in the state of him, the owner nods. “You look bad enough to have at least come across ‘em. How’d you manage the whole nest then?”

Clint chuckled and shook his head slightly. “I brought the cave down on them.”

Shocked, the man nods again and leans back to reach under the counter for a small lock box. He opens it and draws out a coin purse, but hesitates to hand it to him. “Boy, if you’re lying and take this, you doom us all. There isn’t a way we can afford to pay another marauder.” He leans in close and opens his mouth to speak again, only to be interrupted.

“I saw the remains of his claim. You won’t have any further problems from that nest.” 

Clint turned slightly to look over his shoulder. Natasha was leaning against a support beam with her arms crossed over her chest. He huffed and turned back to the man.

“She help you with this job? You best be splittin this boon lad.”

Snatching the purse, Clint rolled his eyes. “Look, if it isn’t too much trouble, I’d like a room, a meal with an ale, and a bath prepared.” He flicked a coin at the owner and turned back to Natasha. “Lady,” Clint pointed at her. “I don’t need anyone’s help, let alone yours. Find a new mark.”

Sitting heavily at a nearby table, Clint laid his head on his arms and set in to wait on his meal. The thought of a meal containing more than one or two ingredients sent a small thrill through him after the night he’d had. All he really wanted was to sleep though. He was sore on top of bruised and it was starting to get to him. Thinking of leaving early enough to hopefully evade his new follower was already putting him into a better state of mind.

Clint smelled the stew before it arrived and lifted his head. Turning towards the kitchen, he spotted Natasha at a small table in the corner watching the door daintily sipping from, what had to be, the only tea cup in the place. Clint rolled his eyes and thanked the cook before he dug in. It was heavenly.

He finished his meal and bathed. Sitting in the hot water was an immediate relief for the tension he’d been carrying since last night. He relaxed as he planned his next few days. If he managed to get on the road early enough, not only could he avoid that she-devil, but he could make it to Marksen before nightfall. Two nights of luxury were definitely on his itinerary now. He nearly fell asleep in the bath, but managed to shuffle into his room before truly falling asleep.

It was still very dark out when Clint was abruptly awoken with a hand over his mouth and a hand on his shoulder. His eyes shot open with a sharp intake of air and he immediately gripped the wrist in front of his nose.

“Don’t make a sound or they’ll know you’re awake.” Of futzing course it was Natasha. This is exactly how his life always was.

“They still don’t believe that you took out the entire nest on your own and there’s a few drunken men down there debating on coming up here to slit your throat to retrieve the bounty.” She whispered.

He glared, not able to pull her hand off his mouth. He hoped that he was conveying every awful name he wanted to call her through his eyes. Then his sleep addled mind caught up to what she was saying and his glare shifted into shock and disappointment. Could he really never catch a break?

“Are you with me now? We’ll have to move quickly to avoid them.” She said as she tilted her chin at the window.

Clint glanced at it and nodded his head as he locked eyes with her again.

Removing her hands, Natasha stepped back with them raised slightly. “Can you make the jump?” Even with the room being on the second floor, they could still hear a hushed commotion coming from the pub below. 

He nodded again as he rose to grab his pack and bow. She was absolutely silent on her feet as she moved to the window. Standing there, she waited as he put his breeches and boots on, an eyebrow raised in silent appreciation. Clint only noticed as he was putting his cotton shirt on. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his thumb and forefinger in exasperation, “Nat…” he whispered.

As she threw the window open, she chuckled softly. “I appreciate a good view whenever I can.”

Before Clint could even come up with a response, she was out the window, immediately dissolving into the night. Staying or following her, either was going to end poorly for him. At least this way he still had his- Clint quickly checked his pack for the coin purse. It was still there, Natasha hadn’t taken it. Maybe she wasn’t as bad as he’d originally though. That or she was really in this for the long con. “I really hope she doesn’t stab me. Getting stabbed is the worst.” He muttered to himself before following her into the gloom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... so I'm new at this. There doesn't seem to be a lot to tag or warn about with this opening chapter, but I hope anyone who bothered to read it enjoyed it regardless. That being said, if you think I missed a tag or warning, please let me know. I'll happily update it.


	2. You Started out so Sincere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The morning brought a heavy banging on the door. Clint lifted his head enough to squint at the offending door. “I hate you.” Ugh, he’d been drooling on his pillow._
> 
> Clint and Natasha have a meal and a conversation about what's going on.

The woods. Again. Clint was already lamenting the loss of his bed at the inn. He really didn’t want to fight those drunkards though. Thus he was following Natasha through the woods. Luck was a hot commodity for him, always had been. They’d already been walking for an hour or so when he stifled a yawn.

Looking over her shoulder at him, Natasha sighed. “I guess we’re far enough out that we could make camp for the night.” She stopped to turn towards him. “We should try to get an early start though. I assume the next stop was Marksen?”

Shifting his bow, he nodded. “I was _hoping_ to have two nights spent indoors. Seems the universe had other ideas.”

It took another twenty minutes after that to find a decent spot to hunker down for the remainder of the night. They didn’t bother with a fire, opting to keep a low profile in case they were still sought after. Using his pack as a pillow, Clint laid facing away from the woman with his hand resting on his bow. Natasha chose to use her forearm to rest her head as she lay down to watch the blonde man. Both remained silent as they eventually fell into fitful bouts of sleep.

###### 

The sun twinkling through the canopy woke both adventurers early. They gathered their respective belongings in silence and set out once again. If they were lucky, they’d make it to town in time for dinner. 

The day progressed slowly for Clint. Even the songbirds were starting to annoy him by lunchtime, especially since he hadn’t gotten the time to get fresh supplies before being run out of town. Some people were just really inconsiderate. Natasha was no exception as she took a small satchel from a pouch on her belt and began to eat what appeared to be nuts. Scowling wasn’t a good enough expression for what he felt. He opened his mouth to say…. He didn’t even know what and his stomach chose that exact moment to let his hunger be known.

Natasha turned to look over her shoulder at him, a barely there smirk playing on her lips. “You didn’t resupply before going to bed.” Again, it wasn’t a question. 

Clint scrunched his nose at her, but didn’t say anything in return. He was grumpy and didn’t want to start a fight. She _had_ saved him last night. Why had she saved him though? He still couldn’t see the angle. Shaking off the line of thought, Clint adjusted his pack on his bad shoulder. He never was good at figuring out the motives people had for what they did. He just knew not to trust them. Years of being abandoned one way or another had taught him that.

They’d managed to keep up a decent enough pace through the afternoon. The sun was just getting low in the sky when the pair could see the town in the distance. Getting into town was a relief. The first thing Clint did was purchase food from a stall. He didn’t even know what it was before it was gone. Once the edge was taken off, he purchased food he could keep in his pack: nuts, dried meats, and some fruit. Clint planned on getting more in the morning before setting out once again, but did not want to be caught out in the blasted woods again without enough food.

“I know a decent place near the edge of town.” He’d nearly forgotten Natasha was there until she’d spoken.

“Do they have decent mutton?” 

With another small smile, the red head only turned to lead the way. Shaking his head, Clint followed. It took another twenty minutes to reach their destination. A two story building sat on a lone hill with an orange tree in front, filling the air with a sweet citrus scent. 

It was clean and only moderately busy when they entered. Natasha immediately made her way to the counter, with only minimal hip sway. “Hey. What’s your special for today?” There was a stout woman behind the bar who turned to face them with a smile. “We have an admiral rabbit stew.”

Nodding, Natasha placed a coin on the counter. “I’ll take a bowl. He’ll have mutton and we’ll both have an ale.”

The woman took the coin with a short nod before walking off, leaving the two to find a seat. With a little over half the tables empty, they had a selection. Clint took the lead and chose a table next to the window, taking the side with his back to the wall. He was a bit surly that she’d ordered for him. Making Natasha take the seat with her back to the room only offered a small amount of satisfaction. Especially since she sat with no hint of her even noticing.

Huffing, Clint propped his elbow on the table and put his chin in his hand. “What makes this place so special?” 

The only answer he received was a smirk. They waited in silence for their food to arrive. Clint began drumming the fingers of his free hand on the table while idly surveying the room. He still couldn't figure out why Natasha was so interested in him. He wasn't particularly well known. He didn't have many friends, and those he did have barely put up with him. Hell, he was basically a walking disaster. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he snuck a look at Natasha. She sat with poise, looking out the window with her hands in her lap. Her eyes seemed to be tracking something. It struck him then, she wasn't really looking at what was outside, she was using the reflection to track the other patrons in the room. 

Just as he opened his mouth, the woman from the counter brought their mugs of ale. She set them down gently before announcing that their meals would be brought out shortly. Natasha gave her a nod with a small smile in return. If there was a way to grumpily take a swig of ale, Clint was determined to achieve it.

The smaller woman took a delicate sip from her own mug as she watched Clint. “Are you always so surly, or is it all for me?”

“I’d say not to flatter yourself, but it’s definitely all for you.” He set his mug down a bit harder than he intended and a bit of the amber liquid spilled out. “Aw, ale, no…” Lifting the mug, he attempted to swipe what spilled off the edge of the table, but only managed to slosh more over the lip. He sighed in defeat before placing his mug into the puddle again. “You seem to know a hell of a lot more about me than I do about you. It’s off putting.”

“Hmmm, how about a fresh start then? Clint Barton, I’m Natasha Romanoff. I was sent to protect you.”

That had not been something Clint was prepared to hear. Protect him? The only thing he seemed to truly need protection from was himself. “You know what? You started out sounding so sincere, then finished with a spectacular lie. So spectacular, that I almost bought it, even though it’s bag full of cats crazy.” Leaning back in his chair, Clint laced his hands behind his head.

The red head cocked her eyebrow, but didn’t seem bothered otherwise. “I work with a network of others that keep an ear to the ground. We don’t know why, but there is someone after you.”

“Yes, and this mystery person wants me for what? Dinner parties in fancy dress? A bard?” He jolted forward suddenly to lean his forearms on the table. “Oh! I know. They need an adonis like model for their Godly painting!”

Natasha pursed her lips as she ignored his outburst. “We’re not sure what he wants you for. We just know that he’s powerful and he’s never wanted anything beneficial to humanity before.”

“So who is this mystery man then?”

“We only know his alias: Triboulet. He’s very powerful Clint. This is a threat you must take seriously.” There was a look of urgency in her eyes that he couldn’t ignore.

It was at this moment that their food arrived. They both leaned away from each other, not realizing that they’d been drawn in towards each other through the course of their conversation. The young boy that laid their food out eyed them knowingly before dashing back into the kitchen.

Picking up his fork, Clint pointed it at his companion. “Triboulet? Like a fool? How dangerous could someon- OOoooooo!” The man’s eyes fluttered closed in pleasure as he slowly chewed the bite he’d taken. “This is why you wanted to come here. This! This is the food of the Gods.” 

Natasha looked as though she were fighting a smile as she took a bite of her own food. If he hadn’t been watching her so intently the last day or so, he might not have recognized it as so. “Yes, as in the fool. It’s a name his followers call him. And, yes, the food is why I recommended this place. Since you weren’t able to restock your stores yesterday, I thought you may appreciate it.”

The groan the man gave in response was bordering pornographic. He chewed for an extra moment before swallowing to speak. “Well thanks for that then. So you don’t know why, but you know this Triboulet guy is after me.” Natasha only nodded in response. “How big is his following then?”

“It’s large enough for you to be wary. Honestly though, I’m not certain of its full extent.”

Nodding, Clint spoke through another mouthful of his meal. “Alright. Let’s assume this is all true and I’m not just some mark for you. How are you going to protect me better than I can protect myself?” Gods, even the vegetables were mouthwatering. He was definitely going to have to remember this place if he ever came back through this town.

“I’m a highly trained assassin, Clint.”

His hand paused midway to his mouth as he locked eyes with her. After a moment, he found himself. “That might be the most believable thing you’ve said this entire time.” Still holding her gaze, Clint took the bite he’d held on to. “So where do we go from here?”

“Preferably? You’d let me use you as bait to lure him out,” Clint scoffed. “ but that goes against what I was advised to do. So the next best thing is to take you to a safe haven of sorts.”

“And that would be…?” He really ought to stop talking with so much food in his mouth. It was just so good.

“Lundaviere.”

Clint choked on his food. “L-Lundaviere? That’s at least a fortnight away. On horseback!”

Swallowing her stew, Natasha nodded. “It is. That doesn’t normally seem to be a problem for you though.”

He took a few bites before breaking down. “I’m not well liked there.”

Setting her spoon down, Natasha waited until he met her eyes once again. “Not well liked?”

Clint groaned. “Apparently the governor there is very protective of his daughters.” There was that eyebrow again. “I didn’t know both of them were his daughters!”

“It’s still the best destination to keep you from Triboulet.” There was no room for arguing with her in that tone.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Clint knew this was going to be a disaster. Lundaviere was not somewhere he’d intended to return to until the old man died. He never wanted to be run out of town while putting his pants on again. Once was more than enough for him.

The woman from the counter returned as they were nearing the end of their meal. “Will you be needin a room for the night?” She sounded hopeful.

Opening his mouth to respond, Natasha spoke first. “We’ll take two rooms. Preferably ones that share a wall.” Snapping his mouth shut, Clint eyed his companion. This answering for the both of them thing was getting old. The red head propped her elbow on the table and held her hand, palm up, towards him. He eyed it and then her. “I paid for dinner.”

Giving her a flat look, Clint reached into his pack for his coin purse. He flicked a few coins at her and watched as they all landed in her open palm. Returning his look with more exasperation, Natasha handed the coins over to the woman. She nodded and told them to come see her for the keys when they were ready. 

Once she’d left them, the blonde returned his attention to the conversation as though they’d never stopped. “Lundaviere is going to be awful, but I’m going to trust you. If what you say is true, I can’t afford to be on my own for long. How will your organization help me and what do they get from it?” Clint couldn’t hold back the suspicion in his voice with his last question. If this Triboulet guy was as bad as she said, things weren’t looking great for him. Things were never looking good for Clint though.

With a small sigh, the smaller woman met his eyes. “I don’t have an organization persey, more…. Allies. By hiding you from Triboulet, we’ll hopefully keep him from harming the natural order of things.”

“The natural order….” Clint pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “You know what, I think it’s time to call it a night. You’re being intentionally vague and after the crappy night I had, it’s not winning you any points.” He paused as he moved to get up when a small hand touched his forearm. How were her hands so warm?

“I have nothing to gain from you Clint.” She sounded so earnest.

With a nod, the man stood. A month was enough time to make a fair assessment of her. He really hoped that she was telling the truth, if only for the fact that he could see them becoming true allies. Despite their rough beginning, there was something about her that Clint felt he knew. She had a familiar air to her. As he made his way to the counter to retrieve their respective keys, he could still feel a ghostly warmth on his arm where her hand had lain.

Just as Natasha had requested, their rooms shared a common wall. It made sense. If there were a struggle in the night, the other could come to the other’s aid with ease. Clint bade her goodnight and entered his room without looking back. Sitting on the small bed, he ran over the conversation in his head. He still couldn’t wrap his head around why someone so nefarious would be after him. Aside from being an excellent marksman, the only remarkable thing about him was his terrible luck. Somehow, it didn’t sound reasonable that Triboulet would want him to reign bad luck down upon the populace.

Unlacing and kicking off his boots, Clint lay back in the bed with his hands behind his head. Going to Lundaviere was going to be a pain. Hopefully his face wasn’t plastered in every guard posting in the city. It had been a few years since the incident. With a heavy sigh, he turned onto his side and waited for sleep to take him.

###### 

The morning brought a heavy banging on the door. Clint lifted his head enough to squint at the offending door. “I hate you.” Ugh, he’d been drooling on his pillow.

“Clint!” Natasha’s voice emerged through the door. “Come down to have a meal before we set out.” How she could be so loud this early was beyond him.

Groaning, he levered himself up and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Keep your shirt on.” The man could already tell that she was going to be a cruel mistress. Putting his boots on, he was unable to stifle his yawn. He let his head fall back and looked at the ceiling. Eventually he’d be able to catch up on his sleep. Steeling himself, he rolled his shoulders before standing. Better get downstairs and eat before Natasha decided there was no time for that either.

Clint was greeted with a head nod and a plate of eggs with a biscuit from Natasha when he arrived at the table. Without a word, he turned away and made his way back to the stout woman from the previous night. “What’s the largest mug you have?”

The woman looked confused as she answered. “It’d be a mug for ale sir.”

“I’ll need two of those. Coffee. Please.” He didn’t wait for a response before setting a coin on the counter and shuffling back to his associate.

Natasha raised an eyebrow when he took his seat. Waving her off, he dug into the plate before him. This time Clint wasn’t bothered that she’d ordered food on his behalf. He was halfway through when the woman approached, a large steaming mug in each hand. She set one in front of each of them. Before she could ask if they needed anything else, Clint took the mug she’d placed in front of Natasha and drank half of it, hissing as he scalded his tongue.

Both women eyed him, and then each other. Clint ignored them both in favor of his meal and beverages. There was no way he was going to let them bother him before finishing his coffee. The owner shrugged and walked off.

“We’ll need to leave soon. Were you able to resupply completely yesterday?” The red head was idly taping her empty plate as she spoke.

Clint finished his mug in a few large gulps before glaring over the lip. “I got most of what I wanted, yes. I would like to get a few more things before we leave town though.”

She nodded and leaned back in her chair. If it weren’t for her rigid posture, she might look relaxed. How someone could be wound so tightly was beyond him.

They finished their respective meals in silence. It wasn’t until Clint finished his second mug of coffee that they left. As they made their way through town, the archer was able to complete his purchases at a single stall. A large loaf of bread, and a small wheel of wrapped cheese. Stowing the food in his pack, he rolled his shoulders as he moved it back in place. His shoulder was stiff, but there was little remaining pain from two days ago. He still had bandages wrapped all over him, but he felt better. Getting onto the road, the pair walked side by side with Clint on the right. It would leave him more room for his bow.

###### 

They’d been walking for a few hours with little to talk about. Clint was still going through everything from the night before. He was about to suggest that they stop for a midday meal when Natasha threw a hand in front of his chest to halt him. She met his eyes before watching the tree line. Clint pulled his bow from behind him and nocked an arrow, ready to draw as soon as the threat presented itself. 

A tall man holding twin blades emerged from the trees after a few tense minutes. Clint planted his feet more firmly. “Jacques Duquesne. I honestly never thought I’d see you again.” He pulled the bowstring back and aimed at the man. “At least, I hoped that I’d never see you again.”

“Swordsman.” Natasha drew her short blades and shifted into a ready stance. “You’re a long way from your usual stomping grounds.”

The man waved his hand casually, as though he weren’t holding a sword. “You are not wrong my dear. I wouldn’t normally make my way this far north, but I owed a favor.” Jacques pointed his sword at Clint. He still hadn’t lost his flair for the dramatic. “Mr. Barton, you simply must come with me.”

“Fat futzing chance of that.” As witty repartee went, it wasn’t his best, but it didn’t stop him from letting loose his arrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!  
> I hope the few people following this story are enjoying it as much as I am. I know there's not much of anything exciting going on yet, but _I promise_ it will get there.
> 
> My layout indicates 12 chapters, but we'll see what happens as I go along.


	3. I said what I said Barton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This Triboulet guy must know something about him if he enlisted Jacques to help bring him in. There’s no way that was a coincidence. If he knew that, what else did he know about Clint’s past? Was Triboulet someone he knew? There’s no way that could be the case. Clint hadn’t encountered anyone that could sway civilization as Natasha had implied._
> 
> An injured Clint needs tending. Who better than the partner he reluctantly travels with?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this isn't beta read. All these beautiful mistakes are my own. (Thank you Bob Ross for helping me to appreciate happy little trees.)
> 
> I also upped the rating to teen for... well, you'll see.

The tall man used his sword to deflect the oncoming arrow and rushed the pair. Clint quickly fired another to the same effect. The moment before Jacques was in range, Natasha sidestepped and kicked his lead leg. His momentum carried him down, but he recovered and parried as she attempted to use that momentum to pull him down. Jabbing a sword at her, Natasha nimbly danced away.

Swinging his bow as though it were a club, Clint used the distraction to his advantage. It connected with Jacques’ ribs, eliciting a grunt from him.

“Seems you need to work on your speed old man.” The slash in response was barely dodged by Clint leaning back to the point of nearly falling, instead throwing his free hand out and vaulting backwards with a grin.

Natasha jumped back into the fray with a stab to the taller man’s thigh. “I don’t think this is the time to be antagonizing him, Barton.” He parried her short blades with his own and shoved her to the ground.

Rolling with the momentum, the red head was back on her feet with a flick of hair and a fair amount of distance between them.

Clint fired a third arrow at the ground in front of Jacques to stop him from following Natasha further. Pausing, the taller man turned his attention back to the blond. His teeth were bared. There was no doubt that he was enjoying this.

“You know, you always had the creepist expressions Jacques. This is no exception.” 

It was at this point, when he faced away, that Natasha threw a small throwing knife at Swordsman, slicing his shoulder with a hiss of pain. It didn’t stop his approach on Clint.

Yanking another arrow from his quiver, Clint quickly let it fly.

Sidestepping, Jacques evaded and pressed forward, “And you still have a penchant for running your mouth excessively.” he stated, lunging at the archer. Clint blocked the attack with his bow and spun to the side.

As the two men struggle, Natasha moves in behind the Swordsman. Virtually running up his back, wrapping her thighs around his neck and throws her weight back forcing Jacques to step back or fall.

Stepping back to compensate, Jacques throws an elbow behind him, striking the woman in the ribs. Grunting, she releases him and rolls away.

Clint cried out for Natasha as he tried to use the opportunity to strike Swordsman with his bow once again, but it seemed he was expecting this and moved under his arm and into Clint’s face. Close quarters was not what Clint preferred, but he’d been taught how to make people hurt. With his empty hand, he drew an arrow from his quiver to stab into the Swordsman’s shoulder.

Blocking the oncoming arrow, the taller man punched Clint in the solar plexus with the hilt of his sword. The blond could feel the air leave his lungs from the blow. He staggered back and Jacques pressed the advantage, dropping the sword in his left hand to grab Clint by the throat.

“Woman, it would be in everyone’s mutual interest for you to retreat a few steps back.” Jacques stated knowing she was close behind. With the hand on his throat, Clint had no way to regain the breath that was forced out of him. He gripped the Swordsman’s wrist as he futilely attempted to pull air into his lungs, his arrow turned dagger lay on the ground forgotten. As he was about to bring his bow hand down onto the taller man’s arm, the second sword came to his throat. Switching priorities, Clint’s hand holding the wrist on his throat now gripped the one with the sword.

“It would be in your best interest to release him.” There was an edge of steel in Natasha’s voice that Clint had yet to hear from her. This was the dangerous air surrounding her given voice.

Clint choked as the man shook him by the neck. His lungs were burning and there were black spots dancing in the edge of his vision already. They were at an impasse. He knew Jacques wouldn’t leave without him, and he didn’t need him conscious to achieve this.

“I will not allow you to take him.” The glare she gave him was one of the coldest Clint had ever seen. “Go back to Triboulet and tell him that this man will not be a part of his plot. I would kill him before you’re able to use him.”

Jacques chuckled darkly. “Madam, you would not kill this man and we both know why."

If Clint had enough air to think, he would have pondered this statement. As it were though, his only thoughts were on how to regain his ability to breath. His chest felt as though it were about to explode. The hand holding his bow was losing its grip.

“You know that if he loses consciousness, you’d still have to deal with me before you were able to take him.” She took a step towards the pair. “And we both know you wouldn’t win that.”

The Swordsman laughed and stepped closer to Clint. Pressed in this close, the blond could feel the body heat from the taller man. He pushed weakly at the hand holding the blade to him as he attempted to put space between them. “You’d like to think so little girl.”

Clint gasped again and met Natasha’s gaze. Fortunately, she was in his direct line of sight, considering his vision was beginning to tunnel. She gave a small nod as she rushed Jacques. At the same time, Clint dropped his weight. The sword cut into the skin under his chin, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he was finally able to draw in a breath. Still coughing as he dragged in ragged pulls of air, he rolled back and away from Swordsman.

The pair still upright met with the sharp clang of metal on metal, both of Natasha’s shorter blades meeting the taller man’s longer one. They held the tension for a moment before the redhead brought her knee into his stomach.

With a grunt of pain, Jacques took a step back. Clint managed to hook his foot around the other man’s ankle and pull. The man lost his balance and dropped to one knee.

Not wasting time, Natasha threw a leg over his shoulder and almost seemed to slither around his head until she was seated on his shoulders once again. She still had her blades pressed against the taller man’s sword and used her momentum to pull it back with her.

Clint, now on his hands and knees, coughed more in an attempt to be able to get back into the fight. Watching Natasha was like water flowing around stones in a river. It wasn’t something he’d seen before. The archer yanked a fresh arrow from his quiver and stabbed it into Jacques’ calf that lay horizontal to the ground.

The man howled and fell back with Natasha still on him, landing heavily on her. She didn’t seem phased by the landing, merely wrapping her legs around his neck while still holding his sword hand captive.

Despite the struggle she was able to maintain her hold. After another minute, Swordsman slumped atop her. Natasha held for an additional minute before rolling his limp form off her. 

Groaning, she stood and walked the few steps over to where Clint was still crouched, breathing heavily. He looked up to meet her eyes just as she extended her hand to help him up.

Even with her help, he still let out his own groan as he stood. “Is he-” He paused to clear his throat, his voice too hoarse to really be understood. “Is he dead?”

She shook her head. “No. He’ll survive.” The woman glanced at the fallen man but returned her stare to Clint. “I assumed that if you wanted him dead that you’d like the choice.”

The archer walked the few steps over to Swordsman to lay a heavy kick to his ribs. “This man is an ass of the highest degree, but he deserves imprisonment though, not death.”

He didn’t hear his companion approach so when she placed her hand on his shoulder he spun, raising his bow defensively. Natasha narrowed her eyes slightly, but didn’t remark on it. Instead she used the pads of her fingers to gently push Clint’s head up and to the side.

“It’s not too serious, but we’ll need to take care of that soon. Are you able to continue on long enough to put some distance between us and here?”

He’d already forgotten the wound under his chin. Now that she’d brought it to his attention, he could feel the warmth of his own blood trailing down his neck, even with the warmth of the abuse it had taken from being manhandled.

Clearing his throat, he pulled his chin from her hand. “Yeah. I’ll be fine long enough to get out of here.” Her only answer was a brisk nod. Gathering the arrows he could find, he motioned for Natasha to lead the way. They set off without a backward glance.

After an hour of walking, the assassin stopped abruptly and turned to Clint. Not paying enough attention, he nearly walked right into her. She used her fingers again to turn his head and look at his wound.

“That will need to be stitched. We’ll have to do our best until we reach the next town. Do you have bandages?” She prodded gently at the gash, which elicited a small gasp from the blond. That stung!

Stepping away, he pulled his pack off, careful not to dislodge the quiver. “Yeah. I always try to keep plenty with me. I seem to always need them.” Pulling out a few small strips of soft cloth, he handed them to her.

“How do you get them to adhere to your skin?” She inquired as she took the strips from him.

Clint produced a small metal tin. He screwed off the cap to reveal a viscous goo inside. “It’s something made with tree sap and a few other things. It saves me heaps on bandages and keeps me from looking like a mummy.”

Clint pulls her hand holding the bandages closer and takes a small amount of the substance on his finger to rub along the edges. He scrapes the excess off on the lip of the tin and holds his chin up for her to see with a small hiss of pain.

The woman raises an eyebrow and gently pinches the skin together before applying the bandage. “You made this concoction.” 

He twitches as he moves to nod and thinks better of it. “Um, yeah. At the rate I go through bandages, I needed something to at least save room in my pack.” The man was starting to recognize these statements as inquiry despite her tone.

Her only response was a short hum before continuing with the patch work at hand.

“Would you have actually killed me?” It felt like an important thing to know.

Natasha pressed the last bandage on his wound and manipulated his head from side to side to make sure it would hold. She was quiet for so long, that he nearly repeated his question. “Normally yes. I wouldn’t hesitate.”

Clint shifted his weight from foot to foot as he met her eyes. “So what makes this situation so abnormal? I don’t think it’s due to my charm and dashingly good looks.”

She stared at him for a moment before turning to continue on their path. “The situation is so abnormal because I don’t know what you are.”

He blinked owlishly for a moment before running the few steps to catch up to her. “You keep asking what as though I’m something other than a 6’3” ball of functional depression and abuse.”

He stopped short as Natasha whipped around to face him. “I don’t know what you are, but you are more than the sum of your circumstances Barton.” 

The man held his hands up defensively. This was something new from her. This was almost anger. He couldn’t hear it in her tone, but he could see the shine to her green eyes, and in the touch of color on her cheeks. “You say that, but I’m the person I am today because of those circumstances.”

The redhead looked him up and down before turning away as abruptly as she faced him. Her shoulders were still tense as she stalked off. He dropped his hands and followed her a few steps before her shoulders lost their edge. “You may not see it, but you are very much more than you think you are.” Her words were so soft that they were almost lost in the breeze.

The pair walked in an uncomfortable silence for a while before Clint finally broke down. “You knew that Jacques was the Swordsman. Did you know that he was after me as well?”

“Who is he to you?” Her evasion was infuriating the blond man.

Deliberating on whether or not to answer, Clint sighed heavily. “After my parents died, my brother and I kind of floated around until we finally came across a troupe of performers. Jacques saved us from the drunk guy we were living with. Took us under his wing. He gave me my first bow.” Looking down, he rubbed the back of his neck. This is not something he particularly liked thinking about.

“It didn’t end well though.” She sounded almost sad for him. Understanding.

“No.” He couldn’t help but be a little short on the matter. Dropping his hand, he looked at his companion. “Turns out he’s a crook.”

Returning his look, the redhead smirked. “That he is.”

###### 

This time the silence was companionable as they continued on, neither felt the need to fill it.  
It was well after dark before they arrived at their destination. Both parties were feeling the stiffness that followed battle.

As they approached the inn, they passed a small group of people walking the opposite direction. Among them was a man with an overly pale face and sad expression, but when Clint looked back over his shoulder for him, he was already gone. Surely nobody would actually walk around with makeup like that without being a part of a show. The archer shook it off as he followed his companion. The inn was small, but comfortable as they entered. They only drew a few stares from the patrons already in there.

This time, there was a young boy behind the counter. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen. Clint sat heavily at a table nearby and thumped his head down with a small groan. The boy eyed him before giving his full attention to Natasha. The blond didn’t pay much attention to the conversation as he closed his eyes.

This Triboulet guy must know something about him if he enlisted Jacques to help bring him in. There’s no way that was a coincidence. If he knew that, what else did he know about Clint’s past? Was Triboulet someone he knew? There’s no way that could be the case. Clint hadn’t encountered anyone that could sway civilization as Natasha had implied. Thumping his head a few times in succession on the table, he groaned again.This was not something he had the energy for. Bed was looking more and more appetizing as he sat. He didn’t even have the energy to flinch when Natasha laid her hand on his shoulder, he just looked up at her.

There was a pause where neither said a word, then Natasha tilted her head slightly. “I had them start preparing a bath for you.”

The man nodded and stood. “Tha-” he cleared his throat. It was still raw from it’s earlier abuse. “Thanks.

“I also got this kit to stitch your wound for you. We can do that while you bathe.”

That took a second to catch up to Clint’s brain. “I’m sorry? While I bathe? Don’t you mean after?”

Natasha glanced over her shoulder at him. “I said what I said Barton.” Was that an actual smile? No, Clint was just overly tired and seeing things. There was no way that she was actually smiling at him.

There was no time to ponder her statement further as they’d reached the bathing room. Natasha opened the door and motioned for him to enter first. Walking in, Clint quickly shut the door before she could enter. He knew he needed his wound stitched, but he didn’t really feel like having eyes on him as he got himself ready to bathe.

Stripping quickly, he tossed his pack, quiver, and bow to the side and was almost fully situated in the tub when his associate entered without knocking. “I’ll stitch you up now, if you’re actually ready.”

Nodding, the blond man sunk further into the water so he could rest the back of his head against the lip of the tub. His knees were sticking out into the air in this position, but it provided the most comfortable way for Natasha access to the underside of his chin.

Neither said anything as she set to work slowly peeling the bandages back. The adhesive left a surprisingly small amount of residue on his skin. The redhead soaked a washcloth and gently washed his chin and neck clean. Despite her gentleness, Clint couldn’t help the grimace on his face. The soap stung and his neck was so sensitive.

“I’m going to start stitching the wound now.” Natasha stated with her hand hovering next to the wound.

Instead of nodding, Clint just hummed softly in response. He couldn’t help his hand from gripping the edge of the tub as the needle pierced his skin. Gritting his teeth, he sat as still as possible so as not to hinder the assassin. How her deft little fingers could be so gentle was beyond him. Clint appreciated it nonetheless though.

Once she finished, Natasha gently laid her hand over the bruise forming on his neck. Her smaller hand not completely covering the marks left from the larger man’s hand. There was no threat in her movements. Despite the heat of the water, Clint could still feel the heat from her hand. It was making his heart beat just a bit faster. Hopefully she wouldn’t feel it at his pulse point. Somehow, he knew that she would though.

Still looking at the ceiling, he gasped sharply as her hand shifted slowly from his neck down to his chest. The slow drag of her fingers left a hot trail on his skin. Clint was frozen in place. It felt as though one small movement would break whatever spell was happening.

Natasha’s fingertips were now moving from the center of his chest towards his shoulder. Holding his breath, he tried not to flinch as they carrassed the knotted starburst of scar tissue there. It was one of a matching pair he had on either shoulder. Old arrow wounds. She must have felt the minor twitch, because the woman dropped her hand from his skin.

Inhaling, Clint lifted his head to look at her. The moment, such as it were, was over. She was already leaning down to reach for Clint’s pack. She drew fresh bandages and the metal tin of adhesive and set them down next to her on the floor.

“Once this is re-covered, you should try to avoid getting it wet.” She was already applying the goo to a bandage large enough to cover the entirety of the wound. “We wouldn’t want it to fester.”

“Yeah.” Clint cleared his throat, as it had gone dry in the past few minutes. “Yeah. Not the first time I’ve had to deal with this sort of thing.” His voice was softer than he’d intended.

Natasha was staring intently at the underside of his chin as she applied the covering. The blond man watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was sitting on her knees and leaning her chest against the side of the tub. It couldn’t be particularly comfortable for her.

Once she dropped her hands and leaned back, Clint brought his chin down to meet her eyes. “So do you have any wounds that I can take care of while you bathe?” The instant regret he felt was so intense. The words were out of his mouth before he even knew he’d said them. The fallout was going to be worthy of the stage.

What wasn’t expected was the peal of laughter as the assassin threw her head back. Once she’d finished, she met his astonished gaze once again. “I don’t have anything that needs tending to. A few small scraps and bruises, but otherwise I’m unharmed. I think I can manage it on my own.”

Snapping his jaw closed, Clint nodded. “Yeah. That makes sense. It seemed that he just wanted you out of the way more than anything.” His chin still stung from the stitching and he fought the urge to rub at it. He knew better from previous injuries it would just make it worse. “Where’d you learn to fight like that? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I told you,” She paused to shift her weight off her knees and onto the side of her thigh with her legs still tucked under her. Her shift put her ribs against the side of the tub with her arm draped over the lip. “I’m a trained assassin.”

After seeing her in action, it was all the more surprising to him that she could be so gentle. Her grace seemed to make more sense though. Her fluid movements were indescribable. Clint never would have guessed just by looking at her. “I suppose there’s an assassin school out there I could enroll in then.” He shifted himself slowly so he wouldn’t risk splashing water on the redhead, pushing his torso out and his knees into the water. “Is there an age limit you think? I could always stand to learn a few things.”

“I could always teach you a few things.” The woman flicked water at him before rising to her feet. Once she was completely upright, she ran her eyes up and down Clint’s sodden body. “I’m not sure you’re ready though.”

Jerking to cover himself, he did splash water over the side. His attempt only seemed to entertain her further. She’d obviously already gotten an eye full. Using his free hand, Clint sent as much water as he could in her direction. Naturally, she easily stepped out of the way of the pitiful wave with a small chuckle.

“Don’t splash too much Clint. You might get your bandages wet.” The tone she used was overly sweet for her, especially given her rough accent. Chuckling softly, she left the room.

“Lady, you are too weird and I do not get you.” Clint muttered at the now closed door.

###### 

Finishing his bath, Clint made his way to his room. Throwing his possessions into a heap next to the door, he collapsed on the bed in only his undergarments. Faintly, he could hear Natasha in her room next door. He’d have to remember to give her a few coin in the morning, or buy her breakfast. Either way, he knew he wasn’t going to last long. 

When he did fall asleep, he dreamt of bright colors and performances ending in blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's chapter 3. I really hope some of you have been drawn in enough to continue this journey with me.
> 
> Again, if I've missed any tags or warnings, please let me know.


	4. Well it's that or the trunk, right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _One of the men was a giant, towering over even Clint. “Hey big guy, I bet all your friends ask you to help them move, don’t they.” The snarl he got in response wasn’t promising. “Woah there. You’re right. I shouldn’t have assumed you’ve got friends.”_  
>  After a disagreement, Clint and Natasha have a new destination. However, the path there isn't as easy as they thought it might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! 
> 
> Thank you everyone that cheered me on for every little bit I managed to do. Keep in mind that 100 words in a day, is 100 more words than you had. So thanks again discord friends! Well, at least most of you.... :P
> 
> A special thank you to my beta for cleaning up my mess of a chapter. You da bestest!

The morning only brought a new wave of stiffness and sore spots. Clint’s jaw was throbbing in time with his heartbeat. It just wasn’t fair that he felt this way. Sure, he wasn’t the most saintly person out here, but this was bordering on just plain mean. Rolling onto his back, Clint stared at the ceiling. His eyes wandered to the wall between his and Natasha’s rooms. He couldn’t hear anything from her side, even when he strained his ears. Surely he wasn’t awake before her.

The thumping on the door was not expected as he lay there. It was obscenely loud as he was so focused on any little noise that might emerge from Natasha’s room. He startled so badly that he fell out of the little bed, landing with his own tremendous thud on the floor.

There was a pause in the pounding. The archer was certain they’d heard him land. “Are you alright Clint?” Natasha’s voice floated through the door.

Rubbing the shoulder he landed on, Clint groaned loud enough to be heard out in the hallway.

“Great. You better pick yourself up off the floor if you want to get a morning meal before we set out.” 

Eyeing the bed once more from his spot on the floor, Clint rolled over onto his hands and knees to get up, rubbing at his eyes once he was fully upright. Getting dressed felt like a chore after the days of abuse he’d endured. All he wanted at this point was coffee and to go back to bed.

The blond checked his pack before slinging it over his shoulder to make his way out into the common area. Natasha was already seated with a mug of something steaming. In front of her was her own half empty plate and another full one that he assumed was meant for him. There was also a large steaming mug on the table.

Tossing his pack down next to him, he reached for the still full mug and sniffed at it. “You must have been sent from the gods.” He stated as his eyes fluttered and he groaned into the blessed mug of coffee.

The redhead’s small smile in return was mostly covered by her mug. “It seemed that coffee was the most important part for you.”

After a few sips, Clint’s eyes turned to the plate of eggs in front of him. “Well blessings on you for noticing.”

They ate in silence after that. Both were still worn mentally and physically from the fight with the Swordsman. 

The man shifted in his seat, thinking of the best way to broach a concern of his to his counterpart. Being blunt hadn’t failed him yet. “I think we need to change our destination.” Clint stated, meeting Natasha’s gaze. She arched an eyebrow for him to continue. “Whoever this Triboulet guy is, he seems to know a few things about me. I’m concerned that he’ll go after my brother to get at me.”

The woman set her mug down carefully while maintaining eye contact with Clint. “I don’t think we should waste any time getting to Lundaviere.”

“Barney could be in danger and it’s my fault!” His exclamation turned the heads of a few other patrons nearby. He could feel the heat of a flush on his face.

The hand she placed on his was meant to be placating, but only made the archer more irritated. “I assume he can take care of himself. We need to make sure that you are also safe here Barton.”

Clint snatched his hand away. “You can keep going on to Lundaviere, but I’m going to make sure my brother is safe.” He hissed. He was so angry he had no problem holding her steely look after his announcement.

After what felt like hours, the assassin sighed. “Where is he supposed to be Clint?”

Opening his mouth to argue further and then snapping closed once again, the words finally processed in the man’s head. “I.. Uh… Y-you mean you’ll go?”

“Assuming you don’t make me regret the decision, yes Clint.” She leaned her smaller form in a far more intimidating way than she had any right being. “If you do make me regret it, you’ll be coming to Lundaviere in a trunk.” Straightening her posture, she brushed a non-existent piece of lint off her sleeve. “Now. Where is your brother Barton?”

“Last I heard, he was living on his own private island a few days south of here.”

“South? That’ll add at least a week to our current trek Barton.” Her eyes narrowed further with every word she spoke. “In case you’ve forgotten, Lundaveire is northwest of here.”

“Well it’s that or the trunk, right?” Clint fought the urge to squirm under her gaze. He could feel that they may be at a pivotal point.

Pinching her nose between her thumb and forefinger, Natasha exhaled and sat back in her chair. “How does he have a private island?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Hesitating, Clint lifted his chin to scratch at his adam's apple. “After helping me out with something, he stole all my money and disappeared.”

The assassin merely responded with a flat look in his direction.

The man held his hands up in mock defense. “Can’t we just leave it at ‘it’s complicated’?” His family history was something he really didn’t want to get in with anyone, especially not Natasha.

“Fine. Go pay for our meal so we can head out. We have to move faster than we have been to avoid losing more time than we already are Barton.” Her tone brokered no argument.

Clint nodded as he grabbed his pack. After paying at the counter, he met his companion just outside the door. The pair quickly made their way out of town with Clint leading. As they passed through the meager gates, Clint saw the man with the sad painted face leaning against a small woodshed. He hadn’t seen anyone else that looked to be part of a troupe of performers. As difficult as it was to believe, he must be traveling on his own. That, or he lived here.

“Barton!” Natasha’s raised voice broke him out of his train of thought. “Have you been listening at all?”

“Wha- Yeah.” It took effort, but finally Clint tore his focus from the man to peer at Natasha. “Yes. Of course I was listening.”

The glare he got in response said enough. She was definitely not impressed. The archer broke eye contact first as he glanced over his shoulder at the shed, only to find the strange man was no longer there.

The smaller woman peered around his shoulder as well. “While that is a handily made shed, I don’t think it warrants the attention you’ve given it.”

Shooting her an exasperated look, Clint picked at the bandaging stuck to his chin. “So you didn’t…?” He let the inquiry fall short and quickened his pace, Natasha following silently.

They made good time through the day, with only a short stop for a midday meal. Their luck even held out for a defendable place to bed for the night. 

###### 

The morning brought fresh trouble for them, setting the mood for the remainder of their day. An abrupt kick to the hip was not the wake up the archer was expecting. 

"Do you plan on sleeping away all the daylight Barton?"

Groaning, Clint rolled onto his side. "Coffee…" He moaned. The sun was barely up`. There was no way anyone could be functional this early without assistance. Yet, their small fire had new life. 

Rubbing his eyes, the blond man sat up and stretched. He glared at his companion. “Was the kick really necessary?” He inquired, rubbing his hip.

Stopping short of the sip Natasha was about to take from her small cup, she wrinkled her nose and tossed the remnants aside instead. “If you’d woken from my other attempts, it wouldn’t have been necessary.”

Grumbling under his breath, Clint dragged his pack to him. He didn’t want to instigate further without being more aware. “I somehow doubt there were other attempts.” He muttered under his breath. Surly was a right when the sun wasn’t even completely breaking the horizon.

Natasha said nothing further as Clint ate what he could. Once he’d finished, they put out their fire and got back onto the road. Neither felt the need to try to fill the silence as they trekked on.

###### 

It was near the end of their midday meal that Clint heard a soft crunching of leaves and a snap of a branch, making him tense up as he met the assassin’s eyes. Her hard expression told him that she heard the gentle ruckus as well. Someone was there, possibly multiple someones.

Without a word, they both began to stow the remnants of their meal while straining their ears for any new sound. Even as the man slung his pack over his shoulder, he couldn’t hear any further evidence of what they both knew. Heart racing, Clint struggled not to look over his shoulder where the noises had occurred.

Despite the fact that their lives could be in peril, he felt a rush of anticipation. Clint knew that sane people didn’t look forward to a fight, but he never claimed to be sane. There was something beautiful about the simplicity of combat for him. No room for excess thought, only action and reaction. Both assassin and archer moved in sync, getting back on the dirt road they’d been traveling on. The silence between them held more weight than it had before. 

The semi normal pace they had only lasted a short while before Clint caught sight of a shadowy figure in his peripheral. Attempting not to give anything away, he searched out Natasha’s eyes to confirm that she’d seen it as well. As soon as their eyes met, she gave the barest of nods.

Without any further communication, the pair quickened their pace. It was unlikely that they’d be able to avoid the encounter, but putting it off as long as they could wouldn’t hurt anything.

Gripping his bow, Clint exhaled slowly. The cool edges were grounding. There was no doubt that there were multiple assailants at this point, even with only glimpses of figures out of the corner of his eye. The anticipation of combat was not something he normally dragged out. The head on approach had always worked before.

A small smile gracing her lips, Natasha turned to look at Clint. “You feeling up for a bit of a run?” His responding smile was all the answer she needed.

No further words needed to be exchanged as both took off at a sprint. The path wasn’t very wide, so Clint took the lead with his companion on his heels. Their pursuers weren’t far behind. Maybe half a dozen, by Clint’s count.

Flicking his hand out to signal his counterpart, Clint took a sharp turn into the treeline. Feeling the branches whip against his arms only held a momentary sting with the adrenaline that was singing through him at this point. Their pursuers were still close behind, but not gaining. It wasn’t ideal to have his line of sight cut short by the surrounding trees, but they weren’t as thick as they could have been.

Their grueling pace couldn’t be maintained and Clint was already getting winded. The air he pulled in burning his lungs.

Abruptly, the trees opened into a wide grassy clearing. The sun was just low enough to hinder his sight. Still, Clint could make out a small hill in the center. Shifting his course slightly, he aimed for the higher ground. No matter how small, it would offer him a better line of sight for their oncoming assailants.

Nearing the hill, the archer glanced over his shoulder to see the pursuers break the tree line. Five. Evenly spread. Something about the way they moved set his teeth on edge.

Clint grit his teeth as he drew two arrows to nock, not yet drawing the string. They were losing distance between whoever these guys were. Just before reaching the crest of the small hill, the archer drew his bow, pivoting as he did so. Taking only a second to aim, he exhaled and relaxed his hand, releasing his arrows.

Though the blows were silent, it was the grunts of both men (were they men?) as they fell, letting Clint know without seeing that they’d hit their marks. Leaning precariously over the lip of a previously unseen hole would impede anyone’s sight.

The small point of warmth at his belt told him that he had Natasha to thank for not plunging to his potential death. Their eyes met briefly as she yanked him back onto solid footing. Without further words, the pair turned their backs to each other as the final three assailants made their way to them.

One of the men was a giant, towering over even Clint. “Hey big guy, I bet all your friends ask you to help them move, don’t they.” The snarl he got in response wasn’t promising. “Woah there. You’re right. I shouldn’t have assumed you’ve got friends.”

The smaller two men flanked the pair. All three of them had a shadowy aura surrounding them. The aura with the pronounced brows, jutting teeth, and hulking muscles, made each one intimidating in their own right. They’d obviously been augmented by something or someone.

“Hey, you trust me?” Her voice was just loud enough to be heard.

“Not really.” The man stated as he shook his head slightly. “I don’t think we’ve reached that stage in our relationship.”

Instead of answering, a small hand grabbed his belt and pulled him sharply towards the hole he’d nearly fallen down before. The yelp he gave was something he’d deny later. Now, he was more concerned about this potentially fatal choice Natasha had made on their behalf.

Clint clung tightly to his bow as the air whipped past his face. Before he could even try to control the fall, he found himself tumbling down a sloped side of the hole. The incline was rapidly losing it’s angle though, causing him to roll at a nauseating speed. Finally coming to a stop, he lay still, momentarily stunned.

“Are you alright Barton?” The assassin’s strained voice emerged from somewhere behind him.

Shifting to free his hand, Clint raised it to show her a thumbs up. “I’m alive. Ow.”

Natasha rose stiffly to her feet, dusting herself off as she stood. “Alright then. We should move on before they realize we survived.”

Flopping onto his back, the archer took in a deep breath as he met his companion’s eye with a flat look. His hand now lay outstretched at his side as he dropped it when he rolled onto his back. Looking down it’s length, he could see a trail of arrows dictating his fall. Fortunately, only a few were broken. Groaning, Clint made his way to his feet and began collecting the arrows that were still intact.

As soon as he finished the task, Clint took his first look at their crash landing site. The hole they’d fallen through was wide enough to provide a fair amount of light, though it was still dim enough to make the archer a bit nervous. It seemed that they were mostly surrounded by a dark, maybe wet stone. He could smell moisture in the air. Not the damp, musty smell of a cave, but the clean scent of a spring nearby. From what he could see, most of it looked intentionally carved. Maybe this was an old dwelling, or a forgotten crypt.

Natasha approached him and pointed at a particularly dark portion of the pit. “That looks like our best bet to find another way out of here.”

Staring over his shoulder at the darkness ahead, the blond missed how close Natasha stepped up to him until her hand lay on his chest. Startled, he whipped his head to face her again.

“Are you going to be able to travel?

“I, uh…” He sucked in a breath and licked his lips. “I mean, as able as you. We both fell.”

A small smile graced her lips. “I wasn’t the one that rolled ass over tea kettle. I managed to slide down most of the incline.”

Giving her a frown in reply, Clint pushed her hand off his chest. As he turned to face the gloom, he could hear her laughing. To think he had been concerned about her. Slightly concerned, at least. “I don’t suppose you’ve got something to use as a torch in one of those little pouches?”

“As it just so happens I do have something for a situation such as this.” That smile was still on her face, this time more smug than before. Reaching into one of the belt pouches, she produced what looked to be a small glass cube with strange symbols carved on each side resting on a metal pin.

Clint arched his eyebrow questioningly. The redhead held it up for him to see and firmly pressed her thumb and forefinger into two of the symbols. Instantly, it lit up from within, producing a blue light.

“Magic.” Clint muttered, squinting his eyes. “I hate magic.”

Ignoring him completely, the assassin walked past him towards the darkened path she pointed too earlier.

Sighing, Clint followed before she got too far ahead. Memories of the cave were still fresh in his mind. Getting left in the dark was not something he wanted to repeat again so soon.

Walking in the blue glow was still unnerving to Clint, due purely to how unnatural it was. He was so focused on it that he nearly missed a carving in the walls of the hallway (if you could call it that) they’d entered.

“Nat, bring the light here a moment.” He requested, stepping closer to the wall. There were a series of images. As the woman approached, Clint could easily see the figure of a man, arms akimbo with what appeared to be rays of light emerging from behind him. There were three star like marks on his torso, one over the heart and two on each shoulder. Below that depicted the same man with the starry marks being worshipped by a handful of people.

“Over here.” He ordered, pointing to the left. This image showed the man getting shot in both shoulders by an archer with a blindfold on. The figure was pinned to a tree with the arrows. Clint rubbed at the scar on his own shoulder as it ached in memory of being shot with an arrow as well.

Still rubbing at his shoulder, the archer simply grabbed Natasha’s wrist holding the light cube with his free hand to drag her to the other side of the carvings. This side showed the man getting shot in the heart by the same blindfolded archer. “Do you know what this is?”

Pulling her wrist free with a small chuff of air, the woman nodded slightly. “It looks like the story of Baldur, the god of light.” Dragging his gaze from the wall, Clint motioned for her to continue when she paused too long. “Baldur was the most beloved of all the gods.” She ran her hand from the central image, down to Baldur being worshipped. “The Norns foresaw his murder, so his mother, Frigg, traveled the world to get every living thing to swear to never harm him. The only thing that was somehow overlooked, was mistletoe.”

Shifting herself so the light was again over the image on the left. “Frigg announced this to Odin, without realizing that Loki had overheard. The gods and goddesses all celebrated that Baldur was now safe from harm. They had a great feast and took turns throwing all manner of things at him. Laughing as everything simply bounced off. Everyone, except Hod. He was blind and therefore couldn’t see to join in the games.

At this point, Loki saw him sitting sadly on his own. So he approached him and said that if he wanted to try shooting him with an arrow, that he would guide his hand. Hod agreed, so Loki helped to shoot Baldur in either shoulder with normal arrows.”

“If they were normal arrows, they wouldn’t have harmed him though. Why does it show him pinned to a tree?” Clint interrupted, pointing at the illuminated image.

“That’s Yggdrasil, the world tree. It’s more allusion than anything here. He wasn’t wounded from the arrows, this just shows the first part of the deception.” Natasha moved to illuminate the last image. “With the third arrow, Loki provided an arrow made of mistletoe, this time aiming for Baldur’s heart.”

The woman turned to face Clint. “Baldur’s death was the most tragic among the gods. He brought light to the world. I assume Loki was jealous when he executed this prank.”

Looking back to the wall, the man nodded slightly. “Seems like a shitty thing to do. I know a thing or two about shitty things too.”

“Yes, well, we’d better keep moving. No telling if those beings decided to come down after us.” The woman punctuated her announcement by turning sharply and walking off.

Taking one last look at the carvings, Clint followed to avoid being left in the gloom.

Their footsteps felt loud to Clint’s ears, bouncing off the walls of the cavernous hall. Somewhere there was a steady drip drip of water. The surrounding darkness seemed to press in on Clint as though it were a living thing. His nerves were steadily fraying the longer they pressed on. The only thing keeping him from losing his cool completely was the knowledge that they’d eventually find their way out, even though he didn’t really feel that now.

The hand not holding his bow was clenching and unclenching in a steady rhythm, which was only brought to his attention as Natasha slid her hand into his. Clint stared at their joined hands for a moment before looking at her profile. The assassin wasn’t saying anything or even looking at him. She seemed to be leaving her hand as a comforting warmth in his. The blond would never admit this, but it was helping to calm his nerves.

The pair continued on in this fashion until they came to a split in the hallway. They paused for a moment before Clint relaxed his hand. The redhead took notice and freed her own from his. The chill in the air was more pronounced without her warmth, causing his skin to prickle with goose flesh. It was definitely the cool air that caused it, nothing else.

Natasha brought her finger to her mouth and daintily licked the pad before extending it slightly before her. Of course! The path out should have some fresh air moving in. Why hadn’t he thought of that? She opened her mouth to speak, when the strong earthy smell rolled over them. Underneath that though, was a hint of rotting flesh.

Clint groaned softly. “Not again…” This smell was still fresh for him. Draugr. “Unless we’d like a noisy mess, we need to move.” His fingers readjusted themselves on his bow.

Nodding, the woman moved down a path, her footsteps were now silent. Even if he strained his ears, there wasn’t anything to pick up. If he didn’t have eyes on her, Clint wouldn’t have known she was there. The thought disturbed him more than it should. That meant that without seeing her, he might never know where she was.

They’d only managed a few feet before they could hear the dragging steps from the other hallway. It seemed that they’d chosen correctly, but it might be too late anyway.

Without further communication, the pair took off at a sprint, attempting to avoid unnecessary conflict. Once they could no longer hear the shuffling steps behind them, they slowed their pace. The strong smell of earth and decay was still prevalent despite their efforts.

Continuing on at a jog seemed like the best option for the time being. Rounding a corner revealed why the smell hadn’t receded though. Directly ahead of them was a trio of draugr, their burial armor hanging loosely from their gaunt frames. Coming to a halt couldn’t prevent them from being noticed. Gaunt eyes locked onto the pair. Raising a battle axe caused leathery flesh to slough from a bony arm. The other two hadn’t noticed them yet, but that was likely to change.

Clint drew three arrows from his quiver and nocked them, holding his drawn bow. Taking aim, he held his bow at an angle.

Natasha drew her short blades and met his eye with a short nod. Releasing his breath, Clint relaxed his hand. All three arrows met their target, knocking the skull from one, while destabilizing the other two. One down.

The assassin wasted no time lunging at the remaining two. She met the nearest, cleanly removing skull from spine with a quick slice. Two down. A quick spin removed her from the downward strike directed at her.

Using the opening, Clint loosed another arrow, this time striking the spinal column. His arrow stood proudly where a throat once would have been.

The assassin grabbed the shaft, using it to finish the separation of head from neck. The hollow thud of the skull landing was punctuated by her soft exhale.

Seeing three bodies now laying on the ground, Clint slowly lowered his bow, meeting Natasha’s eyes. With his companion’s help, this was shockingly easy. Somehow they moved fluidly together.

The man approached as the assassin retrieved his arrows. She handed them over once he was within arm’s reach.

He cleared his throat as he replaced them in his quiver. “That was… much better than the last time I had to deal with these guys.”

“I’ll admit to having an easier time with someone ranged to pair with.” She announced as she sheathed her own weapons.

They took a last glance at the trio before picking their way through the aftermath. It didn’t take long before the air returned to the clean scent of water, instead of the heavy earth that accompanied draugr.

Hours after their encounter with the undead, a breeze hit Clint, which he inhaled greedily. He never thought he’d enjoy the smell of the woods, but hours in a cave remind him that trees aren’t all that bad. 

Within minutes, daylight could be seen bleeding into the cave. Clint rushed ahead into the light. As he passed through the entrance, he had to use his free hand to shield his eyes. It was just low enough to be in his face, even through the trees. As he inhaled another deep breath, his partner (when had he started considering her his partner?) stepped alongside him.

“Come on. We’re already going to be walking well into the night.” The redhead held the cube up only to press two fresh sides, gradually dimming the light until it was completely out. She walked forward tucking the cube back into its pouch on her belt.

“Wait!” Clint shouted, jogging a few steps to catch up to her. “How well into the night are we talking about here?”

Without looking in his direction, Natasha pursed her lips. “Seriously. I need my beauty rest. You think this,” he paused, pointing at his face for dramatic affect. “just happens on it’s own? You better think again lady.”

The woman held a branch out of her way, waiting until Clint approached, before releasing and letting it snap into his chest. Her laughter only made the sting worse. The archer grumpily shoved the offending branch out of the way and rubbed absently at his chest, glaring at his companion’s retreating back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie, I struggled with a few portions of this chapter. Hopefully it doesn't show too much though. I also don't really have a schedule cause I got major distractions and would hate to promise anything less than my best.
> 
> Feel free to leave any questions or thoughts. I probably won't bite...


	5. My name’s Clint and I really don’t want to fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It felt like hours passed, with Clint only taking the smallest of breaths and listening to the forest around them. Somehow, Natasha’s breathing came at calming intervals, as though their romp through the trees didn’t wind her in the slightest. That was just unfair._
> 
> Traveling just isn't easy for these two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I've upped the rating to 'Mature' to be on the safe side.
> 
> Sorry it took a while to get this one posted. Real life stuff can be very distracting. I hope y'all enjoy it nonetheless.
> 
> Thank you to my lovely beta for fixing my train wreck of a chapter. You da sweetest, and I applaud you.
> 
> I would also like to shout out to all my discord friends once again. I probably wouldn't be able to do any of this without them.

Clint was alarmingly accustomed to being tired, but he loathed nonetheless. The tightness around the eyes, the all encompassing body aches, and the yawns. Not being able to contain yawn after yawn was equal parts frustrating and irritating. Currently, yawning made his jaw ache along the wound just beginning to heal. Rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, he nearly fell over an exposed root, barely regaining his footing before his shoulder hit a tree. He felt like a toddler refusing bedtime.

Naturally, Natasha showed no signs of tiring. She was as sure footed in these early hours as at midday.

Yawning again, the archer paused. “Alright, I think we’ve put enough distance between us and them. Could we rest for the night? Please?” Being polite couldn’t hurt, right?

Natasha turned to face him with pursed lips. “If you really don’t think you can continue on, we could try to find somewh-”

“Great!” He ignored her glare in favor of looking for somewhere to sleep. Fortunately, the moon was nearly full, so light leaked through the canopy just enough to give Clint a decent view of their surroundings. Clint pushed past the woman, feeling refreshed with the promise of an end to the night.

With uncharacteristic good luck, they found a decently defendable area within a few minutes. Not risking a fire, both halves of the pair lay on the ground, their backs to each other. The mild spike in energy Clint got was already gone, and he yawned widely. Within minutes of laying down, he was asleep.

###### 

Snapping his eyes open, Clint tensed without knowing what woke him. Trying not to move, he looked out of the corner of his eye towards his companion. Seeing the rigid lines of her body told him she was awake as well.

His heart pounding in his ribcage, the blond held his breath in an attempt to better hear his surroundings. It was just as his lungs made him imminently aware of the need to inhale that he made out the gentle crunching of leaves nearby. Clint fought the urge not to flinch when he heard more from another direction, and instead he focused on slowly refilling his lungs.

His adrenaline climbed steadily from the peak that woke him up as he identified at least six different potential attackers surrounding them. Thank goodness he hadn’t unlaced his boots before falling asleep, a statement to just how tired he’d been. 

As quickly as he dared, Clint reached for his bow. From the corner of his eye, he saw Natasha had a sword in each hand. Despite listening as intently as he was, he hadn’t heard her move or even draw the paired weapons from their sheathes. Her silence paired with her graceful movements made Clint wonder whether she was intentionally loud around him. It was an odd realization to have, considering their current circumstances.

The cool wood beneath his fingers was comforting as he got his hand around the bow was calming, and he took another breath. His quiver was next to the bow, ready for him to leap up and draw if the lurkers attacked.

As soon as Clint’s hand wrapped around his bow, all noise surrounding them ceased. Not just from those in the darkness, but from the forest itself. No birds, no insects, no breeze through the branches. A veil of silence encompassed them, almost like a physical thing.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. The man turned to look fully at his companion. That was the signal their mystery stalkers were waiting for. As soon as their eyes locked, the foliage and underbrush erupted from behind Clint.

Without thought, the archer threw his arm through the strap of the quiver and grabbed two arrows, rolling towards his target. Drawing the string back was difficult on the ground, but not impossible. As soon as he laid eyes on the behemoth before him though, he knew that no amount of arrows would bring it down. 

Before Clint could even get a decent grasp on just how enormous this thing was, a second, literal explosion came from behind him. The force of it pushed him forward and he rolled several times toward the giant.

Ears still ringing, his world was abruptly turned upside down as the thing grabbed his ankle and yanked him skyward.

Meeting the grotesque eyes above him, Clint gave a short wave with his fingers. “Uh, hey there Tiny. My name’s Clint and I really don’t want to fight.”

The roar in response was not promising and brought a tidal wave of spittle with flecks of mystery meat to his face. Groaning in response, he exhaled sharply through his nose in an attempt to clear a small chunk that landed directly into his nostril. 

Clint had to bite his lip to avoid laughing as said chunk landed back on the giant. “Thought you might want that back.”

Without warning, the archer found himself briefly sailing through the air before crashing into a tree. Gods that hurt. His hip lit up with fiery pain permeating past his knee.

Already others were on him. Pushing and pulling at him. His only two goals were to keep his bow and hopefully lay eyes on Natasha. The blond had lost sight of her almost immediately once the fighting started.

Just as he glimpsed fiery red hair amongst a handful of dark figures, his hip was enveloped in a fresh wave of agony. Swinging blindly with his bow, he heard a meaty thump as it connected with whatever caused the noise.

Before he could do anything, his own bow was shoved back into his chest. Two of the attackers pushed on either end, pinning him to the ground. “Not cool guys. Not cool.”

Heaving the pair over his head, Clint rocked himself away from them and back onto his feet, stumbling slightly when he put weight on his injured leg. The arrows in his hand were nowhere to be seen. 

He dropped to his knees with a grunt to avoid an oncoming foot to his head, and he swung his bow at the attacker. The vibrations when it connected traveled up his arm. Ignoring that, the archer pulled a knife from his boot and stabbed the man between the ribs. Dragging it down, warmth enveloped his hand as black, viscous blood poured from the wound. 

Feeling the edges of the blade’s handle dig into his palm, Clint dodged another blow aimed for his head with a roll to the side. There were still two assailants before him. “You guys sure you don’t just want to call it a night?”

It was as the blond weighed the merits of throwing his knife that Tiny reminded Clint he was still there. Clint was weightless again as he was pulled off the ground by the back of his collar.

Why this guy felt the need to _lift_ Clint at every given opportunity was beyond him. It was both rude and completely unnecessary. As the giant brought them face to face again, the archer drove his blade into the unfairly large bicep in front of him with all the force he could manage. Roaring in outrage, the behemoth shook him, forcing him to release his grasp on the blade. His eyeballs rattled around in his skull from the sheer force of being shaken. 

Clint kicked out with his good leg. His foot slid across Tiny’s ribs, getting him nowhere. There had to be _something_ he could do. A small glint of light from the blade still embedded in his shoulder caught Clint’s eye.

“You’re not gonna like this Tiny.” The archer huffed out as he swung his bow at the knife, feeling a jolt when they connected. He was immediately blinded by a splash of thick blood across his face. 

Clint felt his face still burning from the black sludge, even as he landed roughly on the ground. Ignore the pain. Move! Blindly spinning away, the archer had just gotten his hand to his face when he felt vibrations from where he was seconds before.

The pain in his face grew, igniting into something unbearable. A shout of pain punctuated his furious swiping. The pain continued to build. _What was that guy made of? How could his blood hurt this bad?_

The panic built in his chest. Not only was the pain reaching intolerable levels, but his sight was suffering. His surroundings were hazy at best.

Something yanked at his bow. Crab walking backwards to the best of his ability with one hand, Clint refused to release his hold on his weapon. “That is _mine_!” He snarled at the mystery hands. His eyes were nearly swollen shut at this point. There was no way he was getting out of this without--

“Nat! Help!” Clint wasn’t sure his shout would be heard over the din of combat, but he had to hope. Not being able to see created a tightness in his chest he couldn’t deal with. His breathing was shallow as well. If he wasn’t careful, this could turn into a full blown panic attack.

He swung blindly before him with the bow. He might not land a hit, but it would make them think twice about approaching him.

Squelching and screams were all he could make out before he flinched as a small, warm hand gripped his shoulder. His breath caught in his throat. Please...

“Clint. Clint!” Natasha’s voice broke through his panic. Already she had a hand under his arm and was pulling him upright. How she made it to him so quickly, he didn’t know. He hadn’t seen the redhead since the initial attack. Focusing on her hand against him, he attempted to get his ragged breathing under control.

Allowing himself to be hauled upright, he clung to the woman’s arm. Her comforting warmth was the only thing keeping him from completely losing it. His hip fell into the background amid the fire surrounding his eyes.

Without a word, Natasha tore his hand from her arm and threaded her fingers through his. Her other hand cradled his jaw. “Just hold tight and trust me.” Her tone was calming, but still urgent. What choice did he have but to trust her? All he could do was nod as she pulled him from the fray.

Doing his best to maintain his footing with an injured leg and virtually blind, Clint clutched his companion’s hand like the lifeline it was. He had to trust that Natasha could set the pace and lead them away.

They only made it a few feet before a deafening roar of anger boomed behind them. Tiny had recovered from his arm being flayed, and was definitely not pleased at losing sight of his prey.

A sharp turn nearly made the archer lose his balance. The reason for the abrupt change became apparent as branch after branch stung his skin and pulled at his clothing. Denser foliage meant more difficult targets.

Listening for pursuers was difficult over his own heavy breathing. Clint couldn’t even hear the woman holding tightly to his hand. He couldn’t tell if it was due to her skill or his panicked breathing and painfully loud heartbeat in his ears. What he _could_ make out was that the gang that ambushed them quickly faded out of his hearing range.

After a few minutes, Natasha yanked him down and shoved him under something rough and damp. A log. It had to be a felled tree. She wedged herself in after him and warmth bloomed across the length of his body as her body pressed over top of his. The hand not holding his own covered his mouth.

His breath was whistling through his nose and all he could focus on through the panic and pain was the weight pressing down on him. Which said something, since he was essentially a ball of pain.

Clint couldn’t help the soft groan deep in his throat, which prompted the redhead to shush him. Even her breath soothed his burning face.

Tiny’s heavy footfalls were still audible in the distance. As Clint held his breath, the even thumping receded.

It felt like hours passed, with Clint only taking the smallest of breaths and listening to the forest around them. Somehow, Natasha’s breathing came at calming intervals, as though their romp through the trees didn’t wind her in the slightest. That was just unfair.

Far past the point that their attackers had moved on, the pair still lay under the fallen tree. Unable to help himself, Clint inhaled sharply. Minutely, the woman relaxed. Had she not been atop him, the man probably wouldn’t have noticed. Well, he wouldn’t have _seen_ it either way.

Thinking on that fact only reminded him of the sheer fury enveloping his face. He couldn’t help another groan. Natasha tightened her grip fractionally. With more air than noise she shushed him. Her warm breath was a brief respite from the pain.

More minutes passed. The pain would not recede. Finally, he removed his hand from her hip (when had he placed that there?), to remove the muck covering him. Natasha grabbed his wrist to stop him, uncovering his mouth to do so.

“Let me help you.” she breathed. He could still feel her fingers on his skin after she removed them. Shifting to get from under the log, her motion caused Clint to tense. Friction ran the entire length of his body. Sublime friction that despite all the pain he was in redirected blood flow. _Please. Please don’t let her notice._

She was nearly free from their covering when she brushed against him and froze. “Barton.” Her irritated whisper could just be heard. “I assumed you were actually injured.”

“Natasha, you can’t really expect… I mean... It was…” His floundering was cut short as the assassin got off him completely and stood. “Nat… Don’t…” He whined, reaching out for her. Not finding her immediately quickened his breathing. “Don’t leave m-me.” The plea was hardly audible. He knew it was pitiful, but the thought of her leaving him on his own was terrifying.

Clint flinched hard as the pad of her thumb carefully wiped away a tear from the corner of his eye. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. When had that happened? 

“We have to get you up.” The woman’s tone was the softest he’d heard. Instead of removing her hand, she dragged it down the side of his face and neck until she could get it under his back to pull him towards her.

He went easily. He slipped a few times getting out from under the log despite clinging to her arm, but eventually they got there. Finally getting upright, Clint left both hands on Natasha’s shoulders. Despite his near blindness, he could still make out her shockingly red hair. Focusing on only this, he managed a few calming breathes as she inspected his face.

Sliding her hand to his elbow, the woman slowly directed him back to sit on the log they had just hidden beneath. Reaching back with one hand to guide himself, he managed it without looking any more foolish than he already had to this point.

Try as he might, Clint couldn’t help the small wince as her fingertips met his chin and almost tenderly tilted his head to look skyward. The redhead blew gently across the irritated area, offering a temporary balm to the stinging burn.

“You got his blood on you, correct?” she inquired softly. The man could hear her rummaging in her numerous belt pouches with her free hand.

“Uh, yeah. It was that or let him hang onto me.” He paused at her irritated huff. “I didn’t mean to get covered in that shit, you know.” His exasperation was evident.

Before he could say anything else, he heard a loud pop, from what must be a cork. When Natasha leaned in close he sucked in a breath. Her body was pressed against him again, standing between his legs. There hadn’t been enough time to cool down completely from her squirming atop him, and he was still half hard in his leathers. Feeling her soft curves and heat only perked his obnoxious dick back up.

Without further preamble, cooling liquid trickled over his face. The smell of mint and eucalyptus burst in his nose. Clint squeezed his eyes closed. Natasha huffed again and tapped his cheek with her finger. “It needs to get in your eyes to be effective.”

Fighting the urge to nod, he opened his eyes as much as he could despite the swelling. Instant relief flowed into them and the steady stream continued to trickle in. The burning sensation bled away slowly. Clint couldn’t help a heavy sigh of relief. Honestly, who could blame him?

The assassin removed her hand from his chin and used the mystery liquid to wash away what ichor he couldn’t remove himself.

Minutes passed after the flow ceased, her fingers continuing to clear away the viscous blood. Clint blinked a few times as she finished and brought his face down to peer at her. He could still only make out the basic blurry shape of her face, but the pain was nearly gone.

“That should reduce the pain, but I’m afraid I don’t have anything to help with your eyesight.” She stated.

Her tone was sympathetic, which did nothing to alleviate the panic yet to leave him. His eyesight was not something he could deal with losing, especially not now. “I guess that magic belt doesn’t actually hold everything.” He meant to sound lighthearted, but it emerged too high pitched to come across as anything close.

“We’ll find something if it doesn’t clear up on it’s own.” She said as she stepped back to replace the bottle in her belt pocket.

It was difficult, but he managed not to reach out for her as she stepped away. She was here to help him. Abandoning him in the middle of enemy infested woods wouldn’t be helpful.

When she grabbed hold of his hand, the man couldn’t help another jump. Hopefully his vision would clear up sooner than later, because there was no way he could take flinching at every touch.

Natasha urged him to stand, and he did so willingly. They had to keep moving despite his predicament. As difficult as this would be for him, it would only be made worse if their enemies found them again.

Clint clutched her hand tightly as she led him away from their hiding spot, taking a moment to sling his bow over his shoulder and readjust himself in his breeches while her back was turned. Her pace was quick, but not unforgiving. The path she set was winding. It took a moment for him to realize that she picked her way for his benefit.

They continued on this way for what must have been hours. Eventually, the sky grew brighter, revealing just how impaired Clint’s vision really was. It was like looking through poorly made glass while crying. Blurry shapes with implications of color.

Just as a fresh wave of panic was about to envelope him, Natasha squeezed his hand. “The coast is nearby. Just hold on.”

That’s right, this was temporary. It had to be. He _couldn’t_ face a world he couldn’t see. His companion had been trustworthy so far. Certainly she didn’t want to have to watch after him as though he were a child.

They’re path was evening out as the light grew stronger. With the growing light, came a strong breeze that smelt richly of salty air. They’d made it to the coast. How would Barney react to him bringing a strange woman with him while blinded? The archer shook the thought from his head and inhaled the sea air greedily. One step at a time.

Another hour of smooth going was all they were allowed though. “There’s a small house not far ahead. It should-” An ear shattering roar came from behind them, interrupting whatever Natasha was going to say.

Clint groaned. “You gotta be futzing kidding me.”

Without exchanging further words, they both took off running. This time without the fear of being tripped by roots and scratched by branches.

They managed a fair distance before a loud crashing broke through the treeline. It had to be Tiny making his presence known. The thing must have the nose of a bloodhound to have followed them this far.

Tiny was faster than them, Clint could hear his heavy footfalls, but the pair had a decent lead. A lead that was dwindling too quickly for his taste. A sharp turn nearly tripped him, and just as he regained his speed, Natasha stopped. This time, he did crash into her. Fortunately, neither made it to the ground.

“Push this.” She demanded as she brought his hand to something made of wood. The best he could make out was a large, brown oval on the ground. “It’s our way out of here.”

Not needing further explanation, Clint brought his other hand to the object and shoved. It slid easily along the sand beneath it. A boat. Natasha had found them a boat. “I might cry actual tears of relief here.” The blond breathed out. 

Another roar from Tiny. Another shove of the boat. Finally it was in the water.

Before he got the bow of the little boat completely out of the sand, a solid shove toppled him into it. As he tried to push himself up, the boat shifted, causing him to crash down again. Now it rocked in the shallow waves.

Clint had only just brought his legs into the small craft when a foot in his back shoved him down again. “Okay, this is just getting rude.” He groused. Finally getting himself seated, he felt around for the oars. Instead, he found something soft, and very warm.

“Barton, if you touch my ass again, you’ll lose a finger.” Natasha’s words were cold.

Snatching his hand away as though it had been burned, he could feel the blush blooming over his cheeks. Hopefully it wasn’t noticeable over the burns. “I, ah… I was looking for the oars.”

A delicate snort was all he got as twin splashes sounded on either side of their boat, followed by the stirring of water as the redhead propelled them away from the shoreline.

They’d only made it a short distance before there was another roar accompanied by the splashing of water coming from the shore. “Looks like Tiny can’t swim.” Clint chuckled.

“Tiny?” Natasha scoffed. “Is that what you’ve been calling him? No wonder he’s mad at you.”

“He probably wouldn’t be so big if he just realized that pastries are only food. Not love.”

Even winded from rowing them out to sea, Natasha’s laughter was still as rich as the first time he’d heard it. This time, he couldn’t help the small smile in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, poor Clint. Even terrified from potentially losing his vision, he's still cracking a smile though. 
> 
> Please drop a comment. Ask a question. Make a suggestion. I do actually like chatting about this subject.


	6. Guess what? You're supposed to say chicken butt!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Does it really change anything though?” Her hand moved to the side of his neck, and he couldn’t help tilting his head toward the comfort her warmth brought._
> 
> _“It changes everything,” he exhaled shakily through his nose. “And yet, it doesn’t really seem to change anything.” He met her eyes trying to imagine her pitying expression. Bearing witness to his wreck of a life, she must pity him._
> 
> Clint and Natasha finally meet up with Barney, who shares a startling revelation...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever just take a look at what your characters are doing and just think, "How the hell did this happen?" Cause that's what I did every step of the way for this chapter.
> 
> There aren't any real warnings for this one. Unless you count stupidity as one. Mine or Clint's, it's kinda up in the air.
> 
> I'd also like to shout out (again) to all my discord buddies. Y'all are really helping me through this fic.

“You said _south_ , Barton!” Natasha’s shout was sure to be heard back on the shore. 

Clint inhaled as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I know I did. We had to go south to the shore. From there, it’s west.”

This argument was going in circles. Without his sight to guide them, what should have taken them a few hours had already taken most of the day. It was well past midday and they still hadn’t managed to get to their destination. 

Stomach grumbling again, Clint dropped his hand into his lap. Again, he was lamenting the loss of his pack. He knew he was fortunate to still have his quiver and bow, but with his belly growing more ravenous by the second, he was considering the merits of getting a belt to match his companion’s. 

He could only just make out the sound of her sharp exhale over the water lapping at the sides of the boat. They were both frustrated, but without his full sight, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

“You didn’t say west from the coast. You only said south.” Her tone was audibly boiling. "There was absolutely no way for me to know."

"I'm not saying that you should've known. I'm saying that you should have asked!" Trying and failing to bring his own anger under control, he stood, rocking the boat slightly. “At least, you should have asked before we went in the wrong direction for half the damn day.”

Between the lack of sleep, the constant fighting, and his own blindness-related anxiety, he was reaching his breaking point. Everything had compounded and now, without another outlet, his companion was getting the brunt of it. He knew she didn’t deserve it, but there was no stopping it at this point.

“Sit down, Barton. You’ll tip us if you keep standing like that.” To punctuate her point, she poked him in the hip. Hard.

Not seeing it coming, he jumped. Trying to get his balance back, he overcorrected and wheeled his arms while leaning precariously over the lip of the boat.

The redhead jumped to catch him by his belt, but rocked the boat further, plunging him into the water. Cold salt water stung his tender skin. A moment of panic overtook the anger he had only moments before. Realizing that panicking wouldn’t help, he paused before kicking himself to the surface.

Natasha’s laughter greeted him as he resurfaced. The ridiculousness of the situation hit him all at once. Laughing in return, he splashed in her direction. Even the burn of the salt water in his wounds amounted to very little as all the previous anger and anxiety seeped out of him.

“I was going to offer you a hand back in, but I think you can manage that on your own.” She stated dryly. 

Chuckling, Clint splashed her again before groping for the side of the boat. Another moment of panic nearly overtook him as he struggled. Finally, his hand landed on the lip. He kicked himself closer and brought his other hand to the same edge. Taking in a calming breath, he pulled down slightly, the boat tipping precariously. Immediately, he allowed himself to sink back down into the water. “You probably ought to act as a counter balance here.” He flicked his chin in front of him to highlight his point. 

He saw her vague shape move in tandem with the boat rocking. Once she was settled, the archer hoisted himself out of the water until his hips met the edge. He brought the full weight of his torso into the boat, his legs still hanging overboard. This brought his face right into Natasha’s lap. Tensing in preparation for the impending shove or smack, he paused his attempts.

“In or out, Barton. Your ass hanging out won’t help us get anywhere.” Her tone was teasing. 

Biting his lip, he turned onto his side to bring his legs in. His final position put his head awkwardly on Natasha’s seat and his legs sprawled over the bow. He could _feel_ the quirked eyebrow on the assassin’s face.

Closing his eyes, he darted a hand out to grab at what he hoped was her arm. The move must have been unexpected, because he managed it without difficulty. Before she could do much about it, he pulled her down with him.

Her weight forced the breath from him. “I can’t be the only one that's wet here.” As he processes just what he’d said, he could feel his face heating up. “I mean… You're clothes… uh… not…”

Her delicate snort stopped his prattling. "Way to ruin a perfectly good pun," she said lightly. Natasha planted her hand next to his head and pushed up, only to be stopped by his arms clamping down. Regardless of knowing that he couldn’t make out anything more than basic shapes, the assassin arched an eyebrow down at him.

Despite her silence, Clint knew the unasked question. “The water was pretty chilly, you know. And somehow, you’re always warm.” As if to prove his statement, a shiver ran down the length of his body.

“Seems like you should have thought about that before standing in a row boat, Barton,” she stated dryly. As she opened her mouth to continue on, her head snapped up.

It took a moment for him to understand what little he could see as such. When he did, his arms loosened around her. No point inhibiting her more than he already was. “What is it?”

“A boat,” she said distractedly.

“How close?” he asked as he tilted his head futilely. The archer knew he wouldn’t be able to see it regardless of his angle, but it didn’t stop him from trying.

Natasha shifted herself to kneel over his supine form. “Closer than I would like.”

“How could it get that close?” Clint asked as he pushed himself onto his elbows, only to be pressed back down with a warm hand on his chest. “We’re in open waters.” 

Even without most of his sight, he could feel the heat of her glare boring holes into him. “I would’ve noticed sooner if _someone_ had decided to stay in the boat.”

“I wouldn’t have fallen out of the boat if someone hadn’t thrown me off balance!” He moved to sit up again, only to be pushed down again. “Oh, c’mon! Lemme up.”

“Shush! You can’t see it anyhow.” To punctuate herself, she pressed a knee into his sternum. The pressure was mild, but still painful. Her knee was sharp.

“We could always try rowing away?” he asked hopefully.

Natasha smacked the top of his head lightly. “It’s a sailboat, you dummy. There’s no way we could outrun that.”

Minutes passed as they held their respective positions. Finally, a voice emerged over the lapping of water.

“Ma’am, this isn’t a great place to be in a rowboat!” A masculine voice yelled. “If you’re looking for someone alone time with your fella, you don’t need to come out this far.”

Clint shoved at his companion without affect. “Nat. Lemme up.” He hissed. 

Slowly, she removed her knee and sat next to him. Before the archer could get situated, the man spoke again.

“Oh. Hey! Guess what?” Clint froze, still only halfway upright. When neither of them responded, the man continued on. “You’re supposed to say chicken butt.”

Turning slowly, he could only make out the shape of the larger vessel with a figure atop it. “B-barney?” he inquired incredulously.

“Hey, little brother! How’d you find yourself way out here?” he asked with a chuckle. “And with such a pretty lady too!”

Before Clint had a chance to respond, Natasha, honest to gods, _giggled_. “Oh, honey. He thinks I’m pretty!”

Clint whipped his head around so fast, he was shocked he didn’t hurt himself. Her entire tone changed in an instant. Even her accent was gone. Mouth agape, he couldn’t formulate a response as she took his arm in both of hers. Still stunned, he took a seat beside her.

“You never told me your brother was so _handsome_.” She was so jovial, even going so far as slapping his arm with her fingers. “Well, don’t just sit there, silly. Introduce us!”

He couldn’t see her facial expression, but he wished he could. There was no doubt in his mind that it was vapid and maybe a little dopey to match her tone. “Uh… Barney. Hey. This…” How in the world was he supposed to explain the situation with her acting like this? “This is Nata- OW!” He tried to turn away from her as a hard pinch on the back of his upper arm cut him off. “What was that for?” he whispered when he couldn’t move away.

“I’m Natalie.” She announced across the waves instead of answering him. “Your brother has told me soooo much about you, Barney.”

“I did?”

“He did?” Both Bartons asked at the same time, with a near identical tone.

Laughing at their joint question, Natasha nodded. “Of course he did! How could he not tell me about his beloved brother looking out for him?” she chuckled sweetly. 

Clint found her hand and squeezed. “What are you doing?” he whispered, full of venom. Whatever her plan was, it was certainly beyond him.

“Huh. He told you that, did he?” Barney did not sound convinced. “He always did have a good imagination as a kid. I guess it stuck.” Clint could picture the look of disbelief on his brother’s face.

Clint used the excuse of rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand to avoid looking in his brother’s direction. “Look, I barely told her anything. She’s just exaggerating.” 

Natasha leaned away from him with a scandalous gasp. “ _Dearest!_ I do not exaggerate!”

This was getting to be too much for Clint. Gone was the cold assassin, and as much as she irritated him, this new, lighter Natasha just seemed wrong. 

“Well, I don’t know how you two managed to get out here, but we’re just a couple of hours from my house. I could… give you a lift?”

“Oh, that’d be great!” Clint exclaimed, claiming the lifeline his brother threw his way. “We were on our way to see you actually.”

Barney chuckled as he threw a rope ladder at the archer. “You don’t say? I suppose you could’ve been visiting some other brother on a nearby island.”

Natasha handed the rope to Clint and began to ascend. “You didn’t tell me you had another brother! Is he as handsome as this one?” She turned to face Clint abruptly, nearly causing him to lose his balance as he held the bottom rungs. “Wait, is he younger or older than you?”

Sighing heavily, Clint shook the rope ladder lightly. Natasha reeled slightly before clinging to the rungs. “There aren’t anymore Bartons out there, _Natalie_.” He finished his announcement with mild disdain. 

As his partner reached the for the railing on the pulpit, panic rose in his chest. How would Barney react to his condition? There wasn’t anything his brother could do for him. He clenched the ropes in his hands until his knuckles turned white. Not being able to see the tone of his own skin actually managed to make the panic recede, if only to replace it with rage. Whoever these guys were, they were not going to like what Clint gave back in return. 

“-int. CLINT!” Natasha’s shout finally broke through his thoughts. He could just make out Barey’s form shifting from foot to foot next to hers. “I know we have fond memories on that adorable boat, Handsome, but we’ll make some new ones soon.”

With a heavy sigh, Clint forced his muscles to relax before ascending the ladder. As he reached for the handrail, Natasha’s hand met his, pulling him to her. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he took a moment to collect himself before throwing a leg over the rail. With his face pressed into her neck, Clint was able to smell the light scent of chamomile and leather under her own mild musk of activity.

After a moment, Barney cleared his throat obnoxiously. "You two need to go below deck or something?"

Swinging his other leg over the railing, Clint separated from his companion once again, hopeful the burn marks would hide his blush. "What are you doing out here, Barney?" he asked, desperate for a change of subject.

"Well, I was on a supply run when I thought I spotted a damsel in distress. Turns out I was right, when I found you." 

Clint glared as the assassin giggled. “That’s just mean and uncalled for.” 

Both brothers stared each other down for a moment. Barney broke the silence first. “Clint. Hell, I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“Yeah? Well, I didn’t expect you to steal all my money and buy an island. Life’s full of little surprises, ain’t it, Barn?” His tone was cool as he continued to glare.

Tense moments passed until Clint raised his arms towards Barney. “Gimme a hug, you big goof!”

Laughing, they embraced each other. Their slaps were just on the verge of pain. “Jeez, Barn. I think you need to lay off the coconuts a bit.” Clint commented as he lightly tapped his brother’s noticeable belly with the back of his hand.

“What can I say little brother? Retirement agrees with me,” Barney responded joyfully, slinging an arm over his brother’s shoulders.

They walked together towards the stern before parting to allow Barney to take the helm. “Well, get comfortable. It’ll take a few hours to get to my place.”

Nodding, Clint found a seat among a pile of ropes and closed his eyes with his arms behind his head. Hopefully he could grab a few hours of sleep without Natasha causing too much trouble. It didn’t take long for the sway of the boat and the assassin’s polite laughter to lull him into a fitful slumber.

###### 

Waking was a slow process despite the aggressive shoulder shaking. Clint groaned and stretched his arms out. “I’m awake. I’m awake.” His arms had deep marks from resting on the ropes. He was certain his back was in a similar state as well.

Barney chuckled and gave him one last shake. “Make yourself useful and grab a box or two, you lazy bum. Your lady is already on the beach. She’s one hell of a lady too.”

Clint stood and stretched his back, feeling the bones popping. Inhaling, he rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times in an attempt to clear his vision. His breath quickened before remembering that it wouldn’t. It was better than when he fell asleep, but still very blurry. It seemed that sleep was the only thing improving his condition.

Cursing Tiny under his breath, Clint made his way to the hatch. Hopefully, Barney would mistake his stumbling as a result of just waking up and not his poor vision. Descending the hatch, he found a few boxes of fruits and vegetables. At least, that’s what he assumed they were. Picking up a couple, Clint precariously made his way back up the narrow steps.

Fortunately, Barney had a plank leading from the boat to the dock, so he wasn’t forced to make a jump. “I don’t know why you would get so many greens. We both know that you’re a mutton man.” Clint threw over his shoulder as he made his way to the beach.

“You’re projecting, Clint,” Barney replied absently. He shoved past his brother, nearly knocking the crates out of his grasp.

Reflexively, Clint kicked his foot out to trip his brother, smirking as he barely recovered from the stumble. “You always asked for mutton for dinner. That’s not me projecting.”

Glaring weakly, Barney shifted the boxes in his arms. “I asked for it ‘cause you always wanted it.”

Their playful argument was broken up by Natasha clearing her throat. “Boys, I think we should get everything inside instead of rough housing.” Both men nodded sheepishly as they made their way past her.

Unloading the rest of the supplies continued without further incident. It was nearly evening when Natasha approached the archer as he lay in the sand.

“Your brother is nearly done with the evening meal,” she announced as she sat beside him, resting her hands on her knees. Without Barney around to put on a show for, her usual accent presented itself. “He asked me to bring you inside so we could eat together.”

Clint propped himself on his elbow to face her. “Am I actually going to get an answer if I ask you what you’re doing?” he asked idly. He was just able to make out her exasperated expression.

“How would your brother respond to you traveling with an assassin?” She sighed and laid a hand on his cheek, rubbing her thumb over the still present burn. “Especially in your current condition.”

He opened his mouth to respond before shutting it again. This was actually a fair point. His brother knew what he did to get by in the world, for the most part. “We’ve been through worse together,” he finally said softly.

“I’m pretty sure anyone that meets you knows that you’re used to taking a beating.” She paused her small circles. “That doesn’t mean that the people that care about you have to like it.”

Clint pulled his face away from her hand. The breeze felt cooler on his cheek than it had before. “You said food was ready. We should probably get back inside before Barney comes looking for the both of us.” Standing, the archer shoved his hands in his pockets and quickly made his way back to the house. 

Before he knew it, Clint found himself at the small table with his companion and his brother. Rich laughter from his brother and airy giggles from the redhead mixing with the aromas from the food to made his thoughts lazy and comfortable.

“Alright, Clint. You said you were on your way to see me,” Barney said as he sat back in his chair. “Time to come clean.”

With a heavy sigh, the archer recounted everything that had happened and learned in the past week and a half. Natasha, for the most part, stayed silent. He hadn’t mentioned that she was an assassin, only that she’d been sent to warn him.

Barney remained quiet through most of his tale. It wasn’t until Clint came to the fight with Tiny that he finally spoke up. “So that guy’s blood is the reason you can’t see?”

Clint gaped at him for a few seconds before he was able to recover. “You mean… You knew?!” The archer thought for sure that he’d been able to keep that from his brother.

Throwing his head back, Barney released raucous laughter. “Are you kidding me? You ran into three different pieces of furniture just making your way to the table earlier.”

The archer rubbed his knees in remembered pain. “I should’ve known you’d notice.”

Natasha giggled as she stroked his bicep. “Honey, it’s alright. Not everyone can have the grace of a dancer.”

“So you’re a dancer, Natalie?” Barney asked as he leaned his weight forward on his forearms.

“Oh, yes. For many years,” she replied as she twirled her finger in her hair.

Clint supposed that this was as good a reason as any for her to be as sure footed as she was. Barney seemed to be buying it, at least. Listening to them go back and forth about performing, Clint realized that Natasha actually knew what she was talking about.

“Wait, you were actually a dancer?” He interjected suddenly.

“Sweetie Pie, you _knew_ this already.”

He didn’t realize that his jaw was hanging open until she gently pressed it closed. Shaking his head, he pulled away. “Anyway Barn, we don’t know why this guy is after me. I mean, I’m just a guy,” he chuckled. “I should just have my big brother explain that to him. He’d tell him off for sure. Ain’t nothing stronger than blood.”

Barney made a small wounded sound. “Clint…” He said the name so softly, it was alarming.

Immediately the smile fell from Clint’s face. Sitting straighter in his chair, giving his brother his undivided attention. “Barney...” he said warningly.

Barney sighed and ran his hands over his face before tugging at his hair. “Clint, I might know, at least partially, why this guy might be after you.” He sounded pained.

When he didn’t continue, Clint slammed his hand on the table. “Well, spit it out already!” He could feel the heat rising inside. This was not the time to be tiptoeing around the tulips.

“We found you!” Silence greeted his announcement.

It took Clint a few minutes to bring himself back into the conversation. “What do you mean, _found_?” he finally hissed. When Barney didn’t immediately respond, he rose from his seat, slamming his palms on the table. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN **FOUND**?!” he roared. The dishes rattled and the other man flinched.

Breathing hard, he started when Natasha laid a hand on his arm. Looking down at her placid expression, he exhaled shakily. Getting mad wouldn’t help their current situation. Doing his best to meet his brother’s eyes, Clint scowled at him.

Natasha’s hand pressed firmly into his arm, urging him to take his seat again. Without looking away from Barney, he did just that. “What’s going on, Barn?”

Sighing heavily, Barney ran his hand through his hair. “We’re still brothers, Clint. Never doubt that.”

Clint could feel a knot forming in his chest. As shitty as his family had been, it had always been his. Even after his parent’s death, he still had Barney. Now, even that was being taken from him.

“We found you in a field, not far from the house we grew up in. I remember the grass had all been pushed down in one direction around you.” He paused to meet the archer’s eyes. The pain was evident in his voice. “Nobody came to claim you, so we just… kept you.”

His jaw was beginning to ache from how tense it was. Long moments passed as he focused on his breathing. “It never struck anyone to maybe look for my actual family?” he spat out scathingly. “No. You just _kept me_ , like a stray animal.”

“Clint. As soon as I saw you, I knew I had to take care of you,” he said, stopping himself as he reached for the other across the table. “Just looking at you, I knew you were _good_.”

The archer’s snort transformed into dark laughter, bordering hysterical. Barney and Natasha could only stare as he bent over the table and his laughter finally tapered off.

“Good,” Clint muttered more to himself than anyone. He held his face in his hands with his elbows propped on the table. Of anything his brother (could he even still call him that?) could have told him, that was not even on the same plane as something he could have been prepared for. If he’d been found, who left him there and why? Had there been something wrong with him? Were they even still alive? So many questions were whirling around in his head it was starting to make him dizzy.

The archer stood so abruptly that he knocked his chair over with a loud smack. Barney flinched, but he didn’t see it as he was already on his way out the door. It was stifling in the house. Ignoring their shouts for him to return, Clint didn’t stop until he felt the gentle lapping of water over his bare feet. 

“This is so fucked up,” he whispered as he pulled at his hair. Looking up at the sky, he could barely make out a few of only the brightest stars and the moon. “Y’all are just a bunch of bullies, you know that?” He dropped his hands back to his sides before releasing a primal roar over the waves.

“Does that help?” Natasha’s soft voice drifted over the white noise of the surf.

Clint slumped his shoulders and closed his eyes. “It certainly doesn’t hurt anything,” was his empty response. He felt so out of place and defeated that he didn’t respond as she laid a hand between his shoulder blades.

It took a few minutes of companionable silence between them for him to finally open his eyes and turn to her. “It’s just… It’s a lot to take in,” he mumbled miserably to her.

“Does it really change anything though?” Her hand moved to the side of his neck, and he couldn’t help tilting his head toward the comfort her warmth brought. 

“It changes everything,” he exhaled shakily through his nose. “And yet, it doesn’t really seem to change anything.” He met her eyes trying to imagine her pitying expression. Bearing witness to his wreck of a life, she _must_ pity him.

Her thumb starts rubbing lightly along his clenched jaw. When did she become such a comforting presence to him? Better yet, when did he really come to trust her so much? There was still so much that was unknown about her, and yet, he couldn’t think of anyone that acted like a balm as she did.

Licking his bottom lip, he laid a hand on her waist and turned himself fully. He only paused briefly before leaning down to press his lips to hers. Her lips were impossibly soft, like flower petals. 

His stomach was in knots, but she didn’t pull away or remove her hand. Taking that as an invitation, Clint gently pulled her to him. She moved at his urging and let her hand slide to the nape of his neck. Her other hand slid to his ribs, and it felt as though her warmth was completely enveloping him.

They broke away from each other and Clint pressed his forehead to hers. Natasha’s breath was warm on his skin. This close, he could actually make out the shine in her eyes. They didn’t look at him with pity–only an uncharacteristic warmth that matched the feel of her against him.

Before he could overthink it, he went in for another kiss. Licking gently at her lips, which parted, letting him in. As his tongue met hers, his brain stopped all coherent thought and just felt. Her slender waist under his hands, her warmth bleeding through his clothing, her smooth skin against his own. Everything was _her_ at this point.

It wasn’t until a particularly large wave crashed into his thighs that he realized what he was doing. The shock of the cool water brought clarity. Pulling away with a gasp, Clint withdrew his hands and stepped back. “I- uh… We… I think I need to go to sleep.” Somehow she couldn’t see his heart attempting to beat out of his chest with its frantic beating. He knew he was stupid, but this was an entirely different level of dumb for him.

Natasha opened her mouth to respond, but he couldn’t risk her response, instead choosing to stumble his way back to the house as quickly as he could without actually running. Whatever fallout there would be from this, there was no way he could deal with this on top of what Barney had dumped on him. 

He could hear Natasha calling after him as he entered the house. He couldn’t deal with anything that had been happening to him lately, let alone his own stupidity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint! What are you doing?!  
> Well.... at least they kissed, right?
> 
> What did y'all think of all that? I mean, Barney just kind threw that out there without any real preamble. 'Let's just throw this shit and see what sticks.' And what does Clint do? Boy kisses a girl.


	7. You Boys are Hopeless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He held his eyes closed for a moment, as though to refuse she was actually there. “You really need to start wearing a bell or something.”_
> 
> _“Barton.”_
> 
> _Turning to face her revealed just how annoyed she was, though she schooled herself quick enough. “Alright, no bell,” he said, holding his hands up defensively, bow still in his grip._
> 
> _“Barton.”_
> 
> _He tucked his bow over his shoulder. “Could you try stomping around a bit?” He turned to retrieve his arrows with a smirk._
> 
> Our duo actually manage some _actual_ recovery time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay. I know it's been a hot minute. Blah, blah, blah, something about how I'm still alive, blah, blah, blah. I have a halfway decent reason though. I've started doing digital art! (Don' get your hopes up, it's in the category of 'it could be worse')
> 
> I'll post links in the end notes. :)
> 
> There aren't any new tags to add for this chapter.

Before Clint had even opened his eyes, he could hear the soft murmurs of conversation in the other room. Both of them were already up and about. Great. He groaned as he rolled over, and placed an arm over his eyes. The skin there was a bit sensitive, causing him to suck in a quick breath between clenched teeth. He was not ready to face what was out there. The previous night had not ended well.

Thinking back on it, he probably could have handled the whole thing better. As soon as he’d come back in, he shoved past Barney and shut himself in his room. Both of them had left him alone, but that was somehow worse. To just be left with his thoughts.

His mind kept going back to one thing. Not the fact that he’d been abandoned as an infant, or that the people he knew as family were just some nobodies that _happened_ to find him. No. It was the kiss that he couldn’t seem to steer his thoughts from. 

Every time Natasha had touched him in the past, she had always felt so warm. Almost as though she would burn him if left in contact for too long. It didn’t make sense that her entire being pressed against him would feel like returning to a home he never knew. It was the same feeling he got when he’d been out in the snow for hours and stepped into the house with a roaring fire. Comfort and.... familiarity? How could that even be when they’d only just met a few weeks ago?

Maybe if he just stayed quiet long enough, they’d just forget about him. He sighed heavily, knowing that it could never happen. Sooner or later one of them would come to collect him. Better to beat them to it.

Finally, he pulled his arm from his eyes, but held them closed another moment before blinking up at the ceiling. It was still blurry, but at least he could make out the brackets on the rafters. Hopefully a few more days and his sight would be back to normal. The question that plagued him was whether or not to stay with his brother while he healed. He could potentially be bringing those goons right to him. Or maybe they didn’t know where Barney was and this was one of the few safe places to recover.

Pushing himself upright, Clint let his shoulders sag as he realized that he’d need to have this discussion with both Barney and Natasha. He started rubbing his hands along his face, only to pull them away abruptly as the sensitive skin reminded him it was a bad idea. He stood with a heavy sigh. At least with this much sight, he could find his own pants without help. 

Debating the pros and cons of a discussion with either Barney or Natasha, he decided the assassin would have to be first. She’d be the more difficult talk, but also the more informative one. He was just putting his other leg into his pants when his brother shook the entire house by pounding on his door. Instinctively he tried to put his foot down to better face the threat, but it caught on his breeches. Barney’s calls were drowned out by him crashing to the floor with his pants wrapped around his knee and ankle. He was still clinging to the waist of his pants as Barney swung the door open to check on him. Clint peered down the length of his body to glare at the older man. He couldn’t make out his expression, but he could picture it.

“I just… I heard a crash. And with your vision how it is…” Barney stopped himself and cleared his throat. “I just wanted to make sure you were up. I know how you sleep in.” He looked away as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I just put a fresh pot of coffee on. It’s… it’s the good stuff.”

He softened his expression as he stared at his brother. This was as close to an apology as Barney was going to get. As much friction as they’d had between them in their lives, they’d always been there for each other when it mattered. If that wasn’t family, then maybe Clint didn’t really know what family was.

The silence dragged on as Clint thought, until Barney turned away. “I’ll get you a cup. Just come out when you’re ready, I guess,” he said softly. Barney closed the door softly as he left.

Clint closed his eyes as he released his hold on his waistband and dropped his head to the floor. The resulting thump wasn’t enough. The situation wasn’t Barney’s fault. He’d done the best he could. Letting out a noise of frustration, Clint smacked the back of his head against the floor a few more times before opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling again. He was really starting to hate those brackets.

He released a breath as he forced himself to sit up. Now that Barney had been in, it was only a matter of time before Natasha came to ensure he was getting up to join them. The archer stood, pulling his pants up as he did. He managed the rest of his clothes and boots without incident, but hesitated at the door with his hand on the knob. Thinking of facing the pair in the kitchen, especially the enigmatic assassin, was enough to make him freeze in place. No matter what, this wouldn’t be easy. It took a moment to force his muscles to relax, but once they did, he inhaled once more before opening the door.

The domestic scene he walked into felt surreal. Natasha was setting dishes on the table as Barney moved around her to place what he assumed was food in the center. After a moment of attempting to make out more than blurred shapes, his brother noticed he was watching and turned away. Clint opened his mouth to tell him he didn’t need to avoid him when Barney turned back to face him holding an oversized mug.

Wordlessly, he accepted the mug from his brother. Bringing it to his face, he closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply. Clint took a sip and opened his eyes. “That’s just Valhalla in a cup,” he said, offering a small smile.

Ducking his head, Barney shrugged. “I had to use it before it went bad," he said sheepishly.

It was a poor excuse, but Clint let it go with a small nod. Things were tense enough already. 

Both men stood awkwardly waiting for the other to do… something, when Natasha pushed her way through them only looking in Barney’s direction. "I think everything is set on the table. We should probably eat before it starts to get cold. Wouldn't want all this effort to go to waste." He could hear the smile in her voice.

After a minute or two of everyone dancing around each other, they managed to get seated. Natasha sat next to Barney, as though forming a unified front against Clint. There wasn’t much conversation beyond them asking each other to pass plates. 

As soon as the last bite was eaten, Natasha offered to help Barney clean, leaving the archer with little to do but finish his third cup of coffee. Once both of their backs were turned, he quietly rose and left them to it. They'd obviously bonded while he’d hidden himself away.

Clint left his mug on the porch railing before walking off into the sand. The sun was nearly at its pinnacle, but the sea breeze kept the heat from being oppressive. Everything felt soothing, like a happy memory or a forgotten dream. None of which did anything to keep him from feeling like a piece of shit. His body was sore. His face still stung. His vision was still blurry. The wound on the underside of his chin wasn’t healed. Try as he might, Clint wasn’t ready to forgive his brother. He knew he would eventually, but it wasn’t eventually yet.

For hours, he walked the shores of the small island. The entire time was spent pondering recent events. He still had no idea who this Triboulet guy was, but it had to do with the fact that his biological family had abandoned him. How could it not? And after the shitstorm that was the Barton family was revealed, he just had to pile it on by kissing an assassin and running away.

When his stomach finally made its presence known, Clint reluctantly made his way back to the house. Entering a silent home was unnerving. Barney was always whistling or talking to himself. Taking advantage of their absence, Clint poked around the kitchen until he found something that wouldn’t require cooking. He was about to head for his room, when he heard the soft murmur of voices through the back window.

Creeping to the source, he strained his ears. 

“...ever for… Which... terrible cause… fault…” 

Clint held his breath. Fault? Was Barney blaming him for this fucked up situation they were in? Heat crept through his chest. There was no way his brother could be blaming this on him. 

Natasha’s soft reply was lost in the breeze. Which was probably for the best. She couldn’t be happy with him either.

“... wouldn’t expect… know… he is…” 

You know how he is. Barney’s broken response was more than Clint needed to hear. No longer caring about avoiding them, he made no attempt to hide the fact that he’d been in the kitchen as he stalked away.

He’d only made it into the next room when he heard his brother come through the door calling after him. “Clint! Wait!”

“Barton!”

Natasha’s clear demand made him hesitate. Giving the older man the opportunity to grasp him by the bicep and spin him until they were facing. “Damnit Clint! What did you hear?”

There was that heat in his chest again. “What did I hear?” His eyes snapped up to meet his brother’s, lips twisting into a sneer. “Seems like we all know whose fault everything is, don’t we?”

Barney stepped back as if Clint had physically struck him. Which… was not the reaction he had been expecting. “Clint…” The brunette paused and licked at his bottom lip. “Is that how you really feel?”

“Isn’t that what you were just telling Nata- lia outside?” Clint’s gaze flitted to the redhead briefly. “I’d say sorry for ruining your life, but it seems like it would’ve been fucked anyhow.”

“You know what kid,” Barney moved forward again to be face to face with him. “Maybe you’re right. My life is just a big pile of shit. And maybe it would’ve been easier without you in it.”

Clenching his fists, Clint ground his teeth as he stared his brother down. Both men could hear Natasha inhale to interject, but Barney held his hand out to halt her. 

“That doesn’t mean it would’ve been better though,” he said.

The tension seemed to flow out of Clint’s body, through his feet, into the floor. Exhaling, he rubbed his palms against his thighs. “That doesn’t sound like forgiveness.” 

“Oh. You boys are hopeless,” Natasha stated haughtily. “No wonder there are so many wars with men in charge.” Stepping forward, she forced them apart and glared at each of them in turn. “Clint, what you probably didn’t hear your brother say is that he didn’t feel that you would ever forgive him for keeping your origins from you. Barney, what you’re ignoring is that Clint was already working on forgiving you.” She pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and the knuckle of her forefinger. “Both of you are idiots.”

Dropping her hand, the assassin turned and sauntered to her room, leaving both men agape.

Barney turned to the blond sheepishly. “I, uh, I guess that means we’re good?”

Clint couldn’t look away from her door. “Maybe not good, but we’ll get there.”

The evening was spent with the boys small, awkward interactions while waiting for Natasha to reemerge from her room. The quarter moon was long overhead when Barney finally turned in for the night. Clint sat on the front porch, half a mead in his hand, staring out over the water and listening to the waves crashing on the beach.

“I honestly thought you’d gone to sleep, at this point,” he said, still looking out over the surf.

As silently as she’d approached, the assassin moved to sit next to him. Their thighs barely brushed against each other, making his heart beat just that much faster. “It’s probably best to stay here until your vision is recovered enough.”

Of course she already knew what he wanted to ask her. Clint sipped his drink as he continued to stare at the horizon. “You don’t think it’d be inviting disaster into my brother’s home?” The home that _he’d_ paid for.

“I’m not even certain you know where we are. Why would Triboulet’s goons know?”

“Of course I-” He stopped himself as he glanced at her. A mischievous smile was all he needed to be able to make out. “Oh, you think you’re a comedian now. I see.”

Her rich laughter seemed to surround them, filling his chest with a pleasant warmth. They sat for a few more minutes, watching the waves and the moon rising further into the sky.

“Are we going to talk about the other night?” Of course he couldn’t leave _well enough_ alone. He was too dumb not to invite an argument.

“Do we need too?”

Clint took a hefty swig of his drink, mostly to buy himself a moment before answering. “It’s probably best that we do.”

She bowed her back slightly, stretching. “We kissed. You left. I’m not sure what there is to discuss.”

With a heavy sigh, Clint shifted his body to face her. Now their knees were firmly pressed together. “How about we talk about whether or not you actually wanted to kiss?”

“I think you need new hobbies, Barton.”

“I- What? I have hobbies.”

“Eating mutton and drinking mead don’t count as hobbies,” she said.

He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. “One, they do count as hobbies. Two, I have other hobbies aside from those.”

Another silence sat heavily between them as neither one knew how best to continue the conversation. Clint shifted his back against the post he was leaning against.

Slowly exhaling through her nose, Natasha turned to face him. “Let me ask you this: do you really think you could make me kiss you?”

It wasn’t something he’d really thought about before, but the question was completely valid. The mere thought of trying to force her to do anything she didn’t want to was laughable. Natasha was a force of nature. You either went along for the ride or avoided it all costs.

“Wait.” He met her gaze. “Wai- wai- wait. That means… That means you’re interested?”

Somehow, she managed to snort delicately. “I see you’ve never encountered a mirror, Barton.”

There weren't words to express what he was feeling. “No. I mean, yes. I’ve encountered mirrors,” he sighed. “I just mean, you’ve seen me as the mess that I truly am. I’m not nice. I’m sarcastic as futz. And now you’re here witnessing family drama unfold. I’m not really seeing the attractive side of any of this.”

Another pause met his outburst. It felt like ages later before she stood and peered down at him. “What you don’t see, you’re not meant to see,” she said softly, leaving him to sip at his empty mug stupidly.

“That doesn’t actually help anything!” he shouted after her. His fingers tapped out a staccato tune against his thigh as he shook his head. That woman was infuriating to no end.

With an empty mug and a decision made on staying, Clint rose. A gentle breeze wafted over him. It took away some of the tension he had through the day. But maybe it wasn’t the breeze. Maybe just having a decision made, in addition to gaining a bit of knowledge (albeit confusing), is what eased his tension.

Dropping his head, he chuckled softly. His life was never easy. Why would his current circumstance be any different?

The next few days were easier for everyone. Natasha played her role as the doting girlfriend. Barney went back to teasing Clint, even if it took awhile for him to feel comfortable enough to do it. Clint, for the most part, tried to forget everything that had led up to this point, wanting to enjoy the company. He was tired of traveling on his own, and not having someone at his back. Hell, he even missed his pain-in-the-ass brother.

By the end of the third day, Clint took to practicing with his bow again. The first few shots weren’t perfect, but the repetitive task did more to ease his tension than anything else could. The tensing of the wire. The way his back muscles tightened and locked. His breathing slowed, and on the exhale, the way he relaxed his hand to release the arrow. He kept at it long after he felt the strain in his muscles. The soreness he would feel the next day was definitely worth it.

The fourth day, his vision was virtually back to normal. Which meant it was time to make their way to Lundeviere, much as he was loath to return to the situation at hand. It was almost as though time had stopped while they were on the island. A small bubble of safety. 

It was as he was shooting again that Natasha approached him. His sore muscles were screaming, but the repetitive _thwack_ of each arrow finding its mark left him in a trance like state. She could have been there for hours, or minutes, he never would have known. 

“We need to prepare to leave tomorrow,” her tone was soft, but it still made him jump. His arrow landed inches to the side of his intended target.

He held his eyes closed for a moment, as though to refuse she was actually there. “You really need to start wearing a bell or something.”

“Barton.”

Turning to face her revealed just how annoyed she was, though she schooled herself quick enough. “Alright, no bell,” he said, holding his hands up defensively, bow still in his grip. 

“Barton.”

He tucked his bow over his shoulder. “Could you try stomping around a bit?” He turned to retrieve his arrows with a smirk. 

“Gather your gear. I already spoke with Barney about returning us to shore.”

By the time he’d collected his arrows, Natasha was already gone. Presumably on her way back to the house. Slotting them into the quiver, he rubbed his hand over his face. So much for the bubble.

By the time Clint returned to the house, both Barney and Natasha were sitting at the table eating and laughing. Both quieted down when they realized he’d entered the room though. 

“Don’t let me spoil a good time,” he offered good naturedly as he sat, “What’s so funny anyhow?”

Exchanging a look, they started laughing again. Which was a bit unsettling for Clint. Not letting a little discomfort stop him from a good meal, he just loaded the empty plate they set for him with food. Better to get a good meal in before they started traveling again. “Guess you had to be there.”

The rest of the evening was full of laughs for all of them. When everyone had a full belly, they all retired to their respective rooms.

Clint had just pushed his door open, when Barney turned the corner. “Clint. I was hoping to catch you before you passed out.” His tone was hesitant, immediately putting the archer on edge.

“We don’t usually do the tearful goodbye thing,” he replied nervously, “I mean, we don’t even usually say goodbye.”

“No. I know. I just…” Trailing off was never a good sign. “I just noticed that you didn’t have your pack with you when I picked you up. I know it’s not much, but…” he held up a satchel and shoved it into Clint’s chest. “I just threw everything I knew you could use in there. Hopefully it does you some good.” As soon as Clint laid his hands on it, he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Barn…” He paused to shift his hold, “I don’t… Uh, thank you. It...it means a lot. Really.”

They stood there, awkwardly, for several seconds. It was obvious that there were things they wanted to say to each other, but neither knew how to express. It’s how it’d been for most of their lives.

Wanting to put an end to the endless moment, Clint gently tossed the pack into his room so he could grab his brother in a tight hug. The abruptness of it must have caught Barney off guard, as it took him a few seconds to return the embrace.

“I know we’re not actually brothers, but we are.” Clint spoke the words into Barney’s neck, not so secretly hoping they would muffle them.

Chuckling, Barney slapped his back a few times. “You have such a way with words, Little Brother. Have you considered dropping the bounty hunting job and becoming a bard?”

Clint attempted to hide his smile with a frown, but failed miserably. The corners of his mouth failed to hold the downward tilt. “I think you’re just jealous of my skills.”

“Don’t forget the hot girlfriend. Please, let’s not forget that.”

A bark of laughter erupted from Clint, temporarily startling the older man. A moment later though, he was laughing along with just as much gusto. 

As their laughter died down, they were left with a comfortable moment of silence.

“We’ve got to head out pretty early,” Clint said softly, “We should all probably sleep while we can.”

Giving a small smile, Barney clapped the blond on the shoulder. “Yeah, for once you’re right. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Finally closing the door, Clint sat on the bed. The smile was small, but genuine. Despite everything that had happened between him and his brother, things always seemed to work out.

Shucking off his boots haphazardly, and tossing his clothing in their general direction, he stretched out on the bed, feeling lighter. This time, it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh thank god for Natasha. If anyone is going to stop a stupid misunderstanding before it gains any real steam, it's her. She's fucking great!
> 
> As promised, here's my illustrations for chapter 1:  
> [Look at my okayish art!](https://harishe-art.tumblr.com/post/622040889816137728/heres-a-shameless-self-promotion-for-my-stupid)  
> (Side note: I'm on Tumblr!)


	8. Are we even now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Their breakfast was an awkward affair. The only words exchanged were between one of them and the elderly couple, never speaking directly to each other. As soon as they’d finished, Clint pushed himself from the table, mumbling something about collecting their possessions so they could leave, and escape the room. He still didn’t know what to think of Natasha’s…. flirting. Is that what happened? Was she actually flirting with him?_
> 
> Clint and Natasha finally get some real traveling done. It's just that easy, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know that took a while, but I've finally got another chapter up!
> 
> I wanna thank all the discord peeps for making fun of me for taking so long to post. I don't think I'd have anything if it weren't for y'all. Especially my lovely beta. You ripped me to shreds in such a beautiful fashion.
> 
> I don't have any additional art yet, but I'm working on that too. If you're interested, here's art I did for [chapter 1](https://harishe-art.tumblr.com/post/622040889816137728/heres-a-shameless-self-promotion-for-my-stupid).
> 
> I don't think any additional warnings need to be added for this chapter.

Despite the hustle and bustle taking place throughout the house, getting up in the morning was smoother than he expected . Within an hour of everyone being conscious (even Clint didn’t require a wake up call this time), all three adults were fed, packed, and on the dock.

The ride to shore was laughably easy in comparison to how they arrived, lost and mostly blind. A frail woman was there to meet them at the only dock the small fishing village had, catching the rope when tossed to her so nobody had to make the leap over open water to tie them off. Her hands shook as she reached for the line, but transformed into something steady as soon as the line touched her flesh. Quickly and confidently, she tied them off on one of two exposed cleats. When Barney climbed out of the boat, he tossed her a silver coin which she caught with a nod before slowly making her way back to land.

“You always did have a way with the ladies, Barn,” Clint whispered.

“It’s that Barton charm. The world would be a better place if we could bottle it.”

Shaking his head, Clint hefted his gear over his shoulder and offered a hand to Natasha as she stepped off the boat. They stood there facing one another for a long minute before Natasha eventually turned and leapt onto Barney for a hug. It took everything Clint had not to gape at the uncharacteristic action, while his brother just shot him a smug smile over her shoulder. Clint merely rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“I’ll miss you too, Natalia. It’s been a real pleasure to get to know you. Even if it wasn’t under the best circumstances.”

As his companion released Barney, Clint wormed his way in for another tight hug. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon. Just,” he squeezed his brother tighter, “be aware. We really don’t know how much this guy knows about me or you.”

“I know, Clint. I’ll keep a lookout. You be careful yourself or else I’ll be forced to take care of that pretty young lady who is foolish enough to follow you around.”

A few more back slaps and snarky comments, they parted ways. As soon as they had put enough distance between Barney and themselves, Natasha’s posture shifted. Her forcibly relaxed stance and mannerisms melted away as her graceful intent returned. It was a startling transition to behold.

As they passed through the buildings lining the village road, Clint caught a glimpse of what he thought was a pale face. However, when he paused to turn back and look -nobody was there. Shrugging off the odd feeling, he lengthened his next few strides to catch up with his partner. _When had she become “his partner” in his mind?_ It was a startling revelation to have.

The day was still young, as they’d gotten up before the sun had, and managed a fair distance before taking their first break in a patch of soft looking grass. By the time they did, Clint was already famished.

Digging through his new pack revealed a slew of goodies that his brother had given him, including some of his adhesive paste. Looked like Barney had thought of everything and then some.

“Oh, futz yeah!” he shouted, pulling out a handful of rolls.

Natasha merely arched her brow in response, still chewing thoughtfully her own small meal.

“These,” he held one up for her to see clearly, “are the best creation to come out of the Barton household. It’s a roll filled with tomato paste, melted cheese, and cured meat.”

“That sounds… interesting,” she replied mildly.

“Okay, but you _have_ to try one,” he extended one to her.

Slowly, she accepted the roll and took a tentative bite. He could see the exact moment she realized just how amazing it was by the glittering in her eyes. Laughing, he leaned back from her, protecting the rolls still in his possession. 

“Oh no. You’re not getting anymore than that -these are for me!”

A dangerous look flitted across her face before she lunged at him. With both his hands full, he could only brace himself before she was barreling into him with more weight than she seemed to possess. The end result was the two of them crashing to the ground and Clint cushioning Natasha’s fall with his body.

With their faces this close, they were breathing in each other’s giggles -something Clint would later deny ever doing . They stayed that way for a comfortable moment before he was unable to stop himself from ruining… whatever… it was.

“You’re, uh, squishing my lunch…” he told her breathlessly.

The smirk on her face remained present even as she climbed off him and back onto her own seat, leaving him dumbstruck in the dirt while clutching his prize.Making his way upright was a clumsy affair when using only one hand. He stared at Natasha’s knowing smile as he wrestled himself back into his seat, taking a slow bite of a roll. She hadn’t even-

“Oh, sonuva-!”

Laughing, Natasha teasingly waved the aforementioned roll in the air between them. “Weren’t you raised with traveling performers? Seems you should know when you’re being pickpocketed.”

He sighed heavily and shifted himself a few inches further from her. Better to give her a wide berth until he finished his meal. “That’s one of those skills I didn’t really want to perfect.”

The assassin shook her head gently as she took a bite of her stolen meal. “Better to learn whatever you can, when you can.”

Thankfully, the rest of their meal continued on without further wrestling matches or additional food theft. Something that made it easy to pack up and move on when they were done. The road was well traveled, if narrow, which left it mostly rock free and easily traversed. The pair eventually made it to another no-name village that had a room to rent in an elderly couple’s house, rather than a full inn.

“You’re sure you don’t have a second room?” Clint asked for the third time.

“Dear, they’ve already told you that there isn’t another room. They understand how things are,” her tone may have been honey-sweet but all he could hear was the underlying threat.

Snapping his mouth shut with an audible clack of his teeth, he leaned as far back from her as he could without arousing suspicion.

The impossibly small woman, who may or may not actually be old enough to have seen the first sunrise, laughed with more strength than was seemingly possible for her. “Ah, young love. No need to worry about how it looks to us though. We used to be that way.”

Clint’s mouth opened and closed a number of times without anything emerging when, abruptly, he was shoved to the side as Natasha forced the couple’s attention on herself.

“Oh, my dear boy here is shy. He just likes to make a good impression,” she stage whispered to the pair.

The elderly woman laughed softly, and her husband smiled gently at them in return.

Before he had the ability to formulate a response, Natasha had taken his hand to pull him away. They were halfway down the hallway before his brain was able to catch up. Taking advantage of being out of the older couple’s line of sight, he snatched his hand from her grasp.

“So are we just gonna flip for bed, or what?” he asked in a whisper. “I somehow doubt there’s enough room for the both of us.”

“Barton,” If she had been able to roll her eyes any harder, they may have actually escaped her skull. 

Without saying anything else, she entered the shared room, leaving him to stand stupidly in the hallway on his own. Clint managed a few steps closer to the door before his heart rate picked up unexpectedly. Even after nearly a week at Barney’s house with her, they hadn’t really been left alone since the… incident… on the beach. Maybe if he could feign sleep long enough, they could both avoid any awkwardness.

Steeling himself, he stepped through the doorway to find his partner sitting primly on the bed. The very large bed. Letting his shoulders drop, Clint sighed heavily as he removed his pack and set it near the door.

“Alright. Alright, I was wrong. The bed is big enough for the both of us,” he announced wryly. “Does that mean I’m the one sleeping on the floor?”

Without waiting for her response, he began digging through his pack for a thin bedroll. He’d only just gotten his hand on it when Natasha’s sigh halted him, drawing his eye in her direction.

“You’re really going to sleep on the floor?”

“Well, I mean, I _was_.”

“Sometimes I wonder about your intelligence, Barton,” she muttered as she laid back on the bed.

Clint shoved his pack aside. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he let the annoyance bleed into his voice. “I try to be a gentleman and you mock me.”

Natasha took a moment to roll onto her side and prop her chin on her palm. “What do you want?”

 _Well, this is new._ Never before had the assassin actually asked him what he wanted to do. She’d always made it seem like he’d had a choice, but it wasn’t until he’d really gotten hot under the collar that she’d _allowed_ him to make a decision for them. It definitely wasn’t something he was expecting.

“I-” Clint closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, “I want to sleep comfortably. I’m not looking forward to starting our trek with a sore back tomorrow.” When he opened his eyes to look at her, Natasha was smirking -as though she already knew what his response would be. Rolling his eyes, Clint shook his head in annoyance. “I suppose that’s what you were expecting?”

“I’ve learned not to expect much when it comes to Bartons.”

Irritated, Clint's only response was to throw his quiver at her. She let it hit her thigh with a chuckle before pushing it off the bed with a clatter. 

"That's no way to treat your weapons."

Biting back a snarky response, Clint inhaled deeply and shoved his pack aside, reaching over to pick up his quiver. Miraculously, none of the arrows had fallen out. Standing it next to his pack, he turned to face Natasha who was still laying on the bed, watching him.

“Well, I’m ready to sleep. Would you mind moving over?” he emphasized the point by flicking his fingers in a dismissive gesture for her to shoo over.

The returning blank look she offered him gave him reason to pause mid-motion. “This is exactly where I’d like to be. You want the bed, get on the other side,” her tone was measured-no room for arguing.

Dropping his hand to his side, Clint found himself sighing again. Trying to figure this woman out may actually be the death of him. One minute she was playful and cute, the next, she was as hard as a sword’s edge. Even after knowing her for a fortnight, he still couldn’t understand what caused the whiplash inducing shifts.

Clint eyed his pack again, debating the merits of sleeping on the floor out of spite, before shaking his head and making his way around the bed. He hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t want to deal with a sore back before.

He sat heavily on the bed, which was surprisingly softer than it looked, and immediately started unlacing his boots. He’d already started in on the second one when he felt Natasha rise from the bed. Glancing over his shoulder involuntarily, he caught sight of her pulling her shirt from the waistband of her leather breeches, revealing a sliver of soft looking pale flesh. It was only as the hem covered her again, that his brain processed the large knotted scar above her hip.

“What happened?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Natasha tensed at the question and looked over her shoulder to meet his gaze. “I met a ghost,” she said finally.

Pursing his lips, Clint turned away to focus on his boots once again. “You could’ve just said that you don’t wanna talk about it,” he muttered as he tugged at his laces harshly. “It’s not like you haven’t seen some of mine.”

Kicking off his boots, he leaned back and pulled his shirt over his head -tossing it carelessly on the floor next to the bed. He paused with his hands on the laces of his pants. It was silly. She’d already seen him naked. Huffing, he lifted himself off the bed slightly to pull them to his knees and kicked them off in one go. 

As he moved to climb under the blankets, he caught sight of Natasha again. Somehow, without him noticing, she’d removed both her shirt and breeches to stand there facing him with hands poised on her hips in what could only be construed as her undergarments: a midriff baring sleeveless top and... panties. 

His mouth went dry. It took an embarrassingly long moment for him to realize that he’d stopped mid motion and was just staring at her. The fact that she had scars dotting her skin didn’t detract from how soft she looked in fact, it only made him burn with want to trace every single one of them with his fingertips.

Clearing her throat, Natasha arched an eyebrow and startled him. “Are we even now?”

“Uh, I,” he cleared his throat again, “what?”

“You’re right,,” she paused to fold her arms over her chest, “I’ve seen yours and now you’ve seen mine. Are we even?”

Clint blinked a few times before catching up to her once again. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess that does make us even.”

“Good.” They looked at each other awkwardly for another minute before Natasha dropped her hands back to her sides and smoothly climbed into bed. “Get some sleep Barton.”

It wasn’t until she was settled under the covers facing away from him that he realized he still hadn’t moved. Shaking his head, as if to jar himself into motion, he finally joined her under the covers. 

“Good night Natasha,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes closed, as if the action would force him into unconsciousness..

They barely spoke the next morning. Natasha appeared to be her usual stoic self, while Clint’s normal morning grumpiness only seemed to be heightened by the fact that he’d laid in the bed all night, staring at the ceiling for hours before finally managing to fall asleep. He couldn’t get past the feeling of warmth that emanated from the other side of the bed. 

With her so near, he couldn’t help but recall the kiss on the beach in excruciating detail. The feeling of her pressed against him -her lips on his. The slight breeze that cooled his heated skin. The shocking cold of the wave that crashed into him, bringing everything to a screeching halt.

Clint stifled a yawn as he hunched over on the bed, his elbows resting on his knees. The day already felt long but the sky only had a dusky blush to it.

“Better put some pants on, unless you want to give the innkeeper the thrill of a century,” Natasha’s voice drifted in from somewhere behind him.

Clint grunted his response as he dragged a hand down his face and grabbed his pants, still not turning to face her.

“Use your words, Barton. I know there’s a brain in there somewhere.”

Snorting, Clint replied with a single: “coffee,” before shoving his feet into his boots.

“Oh, look at you, using more than monosyllabic words so early.”

This time, he did turn to face her, standing with his shirt in hand. “You’re just a riot this morning.”

Her eyes raked over him before meeting his stern gaze. “Seems we’re both in fine form this morning,” her eyes broke contact in order to trail down the expanse of his exposed torso, lingering for a moment on his abs.

Clearing his throat loudly, Clint waved a hand in her sight line to disrupt the stare. She hmm’d and slowly looked up, no sense of embarrassment at blatantly ogling him. 

“Coffee,” he repeated, feeling his cheeks heat up from the scrutiny.

Natasha only nodded with an unabating stare before turning to exit the room.

Angrily pulling his shirt over his head, Clint muttered to himself. “It’s like she does it intentionally.”

Their breakfast was an awkward affair. The only words exchanged were between one of them and the elderly couple, never speaking directly to each other. As soon as they’d finished, Clint pushed himself from the table, mumbling something about collecting their possessions so they could leave, and escape the room. He still didn’t know what to think of Natasha’s…. flirting. _Is that what happened?_ Was she actually flirting with him?

Leaving the Inn was a long and drawn out affair thanks to the elderly couple giving them a good old fashioned southern goodbye. Everytime they made to leave, another question was asked, or another story started, and so on and so forth until far too much time had passed. 

With his head lolling to the side, Clint only half listened to them prattle on while his attention wandered elsewhere. It was completely by chance that caught sight of a pale face at the end of the road, half-obscured by a sapling. It only took a short side glance at his companion and the older couple for the face to be gone by the time he looked back. It was all that was needed for him to be on edge though. 

Subtly scanning the immediate area, he flinched when Natasha laid a hand on his bicep, only briefly meeting her eyes before returning to his investigation . Without actually listening, he could tell Natasha was making excuses for them to leave and bidding the couple farewell in record time.

It wasn’t until they’d been walking for a few minutes that she calmly asked what was wrong.

“I thought I saw someone. Again,” his mild confusion rang clear, even to his own ears, “I know it sounds weird, but I’m almost certain I’ve seen this guy with white makeup on his face in a few different places. I think we’re being followed.”

He expected his words to be met with stoic acceptance, or an exasperated sigh. What he didn’t expect was for her to nod thoughtfully before announcing, “Yes. He’s been following you for as long as we’ve been traveling together. Who knows how long it was before then.”

Clint stopped in the middle of the path, staring at her back as she walked a few steps further before realizing he’d stopped. “And you didn’t think to share this information with me?!” His voice just shy of a shout.

She stepped towards him, pausing only when he raised his hand. “Clint,” she said softly, more emotion showing in her eyes than he could remember before, “I honestly thought you knew.”

“Knew? You thought I knew and then didn’t share that fun little fact with someone I’m traveling with?” He raked his fingers through his hair with more force than necessary. “Do you at least know who he is?”

“I have a suspicion, but without more information, I can’t say for sure.”

He rolled his shoulders back in a futile attempt to relieve his anger. “Is this where we start a game of charades or something?” Clint’s hands rapidly ran through a number of complicated motions: a fist facing out, two fingers to the side, his pinky pointed up, a fist with thumb tucked between his knuckles, two fingers to the side---

“Barton,” she said icily, “If you continue those gestures, I’ll stop you from making them in the future.” 

Now the anger he’d been feeling was replaced with embarrassment. “I, uh, didn’t think you’d know what that meant.” he admitted softly. Watching her lips form a thin line, he rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the warmth building there. 

“I speak a dozen different languages, Barton,” she replied as she turned away to continue down the path, “and you’ll have to guess which ones.”

Shaking his head, Clint jogged to catch up to her. They were off to a great start. The rest of the day, however, was spent moving for as long as they could, only pausing for brief meals. They even put off finding a campsite until the sun sunk below the horizon. 

This continued on for about a week and a half, in and out of two different towns with no additional sightings of a single henchmen, goon, or the pale faced figure in the distance. Even after the two towns they’d stopped in. Before they knew it, they were only a few days out from their destination.

“Look, all I’m sayin is that I’m certain that guy shit his britches when you looked at him,” Clint laughed as he dodged the lazy swipe Natasha aimed at his shoulder. “No, really. You gave him the Murder Glare, and it was like you could litterally hear it drop. Thoomp!” 

He leaned away, laughing more, as Natasha took a second shot at him. “You are truly disgusting, Clint.” Her tone was serious, as was her face, but the glint in her eye showed the humor that he was just getting used to seeing when they were alone.

The conversation continued on this way as they finished their dinner -more than a few times, Clint managing to get that full, rich laughter from Natasha. It was like something had shifted for them and they’d gained a new level of ease between them.

Once they’d finished their meal, they doused the fire and Clint slept while Natasha tookfirst watch. They both seemed to prefer it that way, especially after an incident earlier in the week when Clint had woken up in the wee hours of the morning to the sound of Natasha sharpening her blades.

_“So, are you mad at me?” Clint asked softly, doing his best not to startle her._

__

Without looking away from her task she shook her head and replied just as quietly, “No.” 

__

_He propped himself up on one shoulder to get a better look at her in the gentle glow of the campfire embers. “So, sharpening your weapons in the pitch black of the morning is just... what? A hobby?”_

After that, Clint had offered to take the middle watch indefinitely. It helped that Natasha seemed to require less sleep than he did, with an added bonus of usually having coffee ready for him when he woke up.

This time, however, after only a few hours of sleep, Natasha gently shook him awake. Groggily, he rolled to face her and noticed she was looking into the surrounding trees instead of at him, something that instantly prickled him into full wakefulness. 

“What is it?” he breathed.

“Someone’s out there,” she whispered back, eyes never stopping on a single place for more than a second or two. “I want to go check it out, but I need you awake.”

Nodding sharply, Clint sat up and watched her disappear into the brush. He rapidly re-laced his shoes, having only loosened them before sleeping earlier. It would seem that some paranoia stuck with you no matter what.

He grabbed his bow as he stood and slung the quiver over his shoulder. He couldn’t hear Natasha, but that was something he expected. Something he had grown accustomed to after this sort of thing had happened a few times over the past week, though nothing had ever come of it.

Nonetheless, he stood anxiously, tapping his finger on his bow in a quick four-beat staccato while he waited. It could’ve been years, or it could’ve been minutes, but he couldn’t take sitting stagnant for her any longer. Stepping as lightly as he could, he followed the direction his companion took into the brush.

There were no established paths to follow, so he just did his best to track Natasha in the moonlight. He was probably a half dozen meters away when he heard her familiar voice call out for him. It sounded concerning, but not enough for him to rush back blindly- she had probably just returned and worriedly found him gone.

“I’m here Nat!” he called,starting the short trek back. He’d only managed to take a few steps when he heard a series of dull thunks followed by a bitten off yelp from Natasha. That was enough to have him taking off at a dead run, not caring as the branches scratched and slapped at his skin.

He made it back in record time but nearly tripped over a felled tree that marked the border of their campsite, causing him to awkwardly half leap over it and shake a few arrows free of his quiver. 

Then, before he could retrieve the scattered arrows, gooseflesh prickled at the back of his neck. He froze, not even daring to breath. Leaves rustled in the wind, a small animal scratched at a tree and- There! The sound of footsteps to his left.

“Nat?” he asked, only loud enough that he knew she could hear if she was nearby. When he didn’t get a responding answer, he shifted to face the potential attacker.

Carefully. Silently. He pulled an arrow from his quiver, raised the bow and nocked an arrow. Inhale. He drew the bow back, his back muscles tightening and locking as the line became taut. He slowed his breathing, and exhaled. Just as he’s about to relax his hand to release the shot, a sharp, intense pain bloomed on either side of his head, cutting off Natasha’s warning shout. Bellowing in pain, his arrow flew wildly and his entire world became silent. And then it became dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eheheheheh...
> 
> Yo! I'm on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/harishe-art) Come take a look!
> 
> I'm also on discord! Harishe#6556


	9. Barton, you dummy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Natasha had already lit a small table lamp and was pulling a small bag tied with a delicate thread from her belt. She tugged at it to reveal a small pile of glittering dust. She added two small pinches to Clint’s water cup from dinner before retying it and placing it back. Swirling the cup, she offered it to him. “For the pain.”_
> 
> _Gratefully, he accepted the cup and drank it in a few gulps. His ears might actually feel better if they were actually on fire at this point. He’d tried not to show the pain, but of course, Natasha had seen right through him._
> 
> Oh, just more of Clint suffering, in some form or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry my update schedule is so wonky. I do my best, but it's really just my discord friends that motivated me to get this chapter done. Without them, and they're many sprints, This wouldn't have happened. So thank you.

Pain.

Silence.

Candlelight.

Gentle warmth.

Red flower petals.

Intense, all encompassing pain.

Clint’s entire world had narrowed down to the thin stream of molten lava that pooled on either side of his head, then trickled down into his jaw and throat. The only other sensation he was aware of, was the normally comforting warmth that gentle touches brought before everything faded out again.

Gentle rocking was the next sensation he became aware of, when next he woke. He only had a few seconds to enjoy it though, as the unbearable pain returned with a vengeance. Clint groaned. No sound. He opened his eyes suddenly, only to screw them closed again as the bright sky blinded him. At least he knew what the rocking was now. He was in a horse drawn cart.

Blindly, he tried to turn over, calling for Natasha as his panic built, only to realize he couldn’t hear himself. Not just himself, he couldn’t hear the wheels on the path, or the clop of hooves, birds in the trees. Forcing his eyes open again, he frantically looked around until he finally spotted a blur of red. Her face was calm, and her hands a firm, yet gentle pressure against his shoulders as she attempted to get him to lay back down. When he fought to sit up, Natasha dug into her neverending belt. Before he could even begin to contemplate what she was looking for, she’d raised her open hand and blown some sort of dust in his face. Clint didn’t even feel the thump of his head landing before he was out again.

There was no telling how long he’d been asleep the next time Clint woke up. Soft, warm light bled through his eyelids as he lay. He was warm and comfortable, and would be perfectly content to continue to laze if it weren’t for the thing itching the side of his face. 

Cracking an eye open, he easily spotted Natasha sitting in the chair next to the bed. She’d never waited for him before. Usually, she would have already gone to get them food. His sleep-addled mind was still struggling to process everything when she laid a hand on his shoulder, her eyes full of concern he’d never seen before. That woke him up more fully, pulling the last dregs of sleep from him.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows with a groan and froze halfway. He stared at Natasha with wide eyes. She was speaking to him, but he couldn’t hear anything. _Nothing._

Ice in his veins. A paralyzing realization. Natasha’s lips were moving, no doubt to soothe and explain everything. Clint frantically clutched at his head. Bandages. The uncomfortable itching that had woken him. It was from bandages that had been wound around his head, covering his ears.

His breathing was coming in sharp, quick rasps as he turned back to Natasha. The look in her eye made his eyes well with unshed tears. After everything they’d been through, this was too much. This wasn’t like him being blinded. This was… forever. He knew it.

It was then that everything came back to him. Going to sleep after laughing with Natasha around the fire. Being awoken in the middle of the night. Natasha going to check it out and him foolishly following after.

“Wh-” he stopped to clear his throat. It was already tight from the effort of holding back tears, “Where are we?” He had to blink his eyes rapidly to clear them enough to see her.

"We made -- to Lundeviere." Clint was able to make out most of it.

He dropped himself back onto the mattress heavily, but kept his eyes on her. More specifically, on her mouth. “Last I recall, we were still a few days out. How long have I been sleeping?”

He watched her carefully as she slowly brought in a deep breath and released it through her nose. "I --- to kno-- you out. You--- been leap for nearly four days."

It took him a moment to parse out what she was saying. Four days? He’d been asleep for nearly four days. Realizing he’d looked away to process, he looked back at her as she finished whatever she was saying and pursed her lips when he didn’t respond.

He fumbled blindly for her hand, so as not to miss anything else she might be saying. Once he found it, he clutched her tightly. “Nat. I…” Clint looked at the ceiling, not wanting to see the pity that would surely be there momentarily, “I can’t hear you. I can’t hear anything at all.”

There were few moments of stillness between them. He had no idea if she was talking to him or not, but he just couldn’t bring himself to look at her. Somehow, speaking it aloud made it even worse. Now it was a fact, not some imagined thing that only existed in his head. It wasn’t until she pulled her hand from his and twined their fingers together, that he slowly turned back toward her.

Natasha began purposefully gesturing with her free hand. [It’s okay, Clint.]

It was as though stone had lodged in his throat, and no amount of swallowing could move it. Clenching his jaw, he couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over. The first tear left a hot trail down his cheek as he watched her continue the gesture one handed.

[You are alive. I am not hurt. We are safe.] Her signs were slow and full of odd pauses, as though she hadn’t used them in a long time. Just the gesture of using them was enough for Clint to wave his free hand between them, fingers splayed, before covering his eyes and inhaling sharply.

It only took a few minutes for him to gather himself, wiping the tears that he hadn’t bothered to hide from Natasha. She’d waited patiently for him to get it all out, still holding his hand. Without thinking, he took their linked hands and pressed his lips to her fingers before laying his cheek against them. Natasha’s eyes softened, affection easily seen for the briefest of moments before her normal composure snapped back into place.

Whatever moment had happened between them withered away with the soft eyes and gentle touches. He cleared his throat again, still feeling as though something were trapped there.

“How did we get here?” he finally asked. There was no way Natasha could have carried him any significant distance. 

Not wanting to pull her hand from where it was still tangled with his and pressed against his cheek, she lowered her face to make sure he was looking at him before speaking slowly and carefully to enunciate every syllable in an exaggerated way. “I ran for the nearest road, where I found a man and his son heading to Lundeviere for supplies. We’ve been here for a day and a half,” she paused, and considered their hands before looking back up to continue, “Once the man saw you, he insisted on traveling without breaks. He probably killed his horse to get us here.”

Clint could only nod. It seems that there are genuinely good people left in the world. “I think, I think I remember being in the back of the cart?”

Without looking away, Natasha nodded. “That’s when I had to knock you out. We’d only just gotten underway.”

They sat there for a while, just taking everything in. Finally, Clint pulled their hands away from his face. Immediately, his cheek was cold, making the rest of his face feel overheated in contrast.

Eventually, Clint’s bladder made its presence known, causing him to shift uncomfortably. “I think I need to get up,” he said softly. At least, it felt like he said it softly. How the hell was he supposed to know?

Natasha hesitated, only for a moment, as though she weren’t certain it was a good idea. Then, she seemed to come to some conclusion in her head and moved to help him sit, then stand.

Once on his feet, Clint swayed slightly and placed his palm against the wall to steady himself. His muscles felt weak. As soon as they were both certain that he wasn’t going to keel over, Natasha moved back to give him space. Even after a few steps, he couldn’t seem to regain his equilibrium. Right. The ears. He’d once known a man that had gone deaf in one ear due to an accident. He’d been one of the tumblers in their traveling troupe. No amount of practice had enabled the man to be able to flip and fly as he once did.

Reaching the door to, what he assumed, was the bathroom, Clint stopped with his hand on the door frame and shook his head. Despite knowing it wouldn’t change anything, he was still disappointed when the dizziness didn’t abate.

Fortunately, he managed himself just fine in the bathroom. That is, until he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Bandages covered most of his head, wrapped over his crown and under his chin, as well as around the front and back. It looked as though there were some additional bandages over his ears, giving them a strangely lumpy appearance, with no definition. There was a large bruise on his cheek bone. He prodded at it gently and winced slightly. The mottled blues and greens create a disgustingly liquid appearance. Seems he’d landed on his face.

Giving himself a once over, it didn’t look like there were any other major injuries. A few small bruises, some cuts, a few scrapes. All those could be explained through his head long dash through the woods when he thought he’d heard Natasha cry out.

_What happened after he’d been taken down?_

Natasha hadn’t mentioned anything about who had attacked them or how they’d gotten away. Hell, he hadn’t even asked if she had been injured. She didn’t appear to be, but that didn’t really mean much when you consider Natasha. The woman was tougher than anyone he’d ever encountered before, which said something.

Emerging from the small bathroom, Clint glanced around their room. It was sparse, but clean and well cared for. Didn’t look like the last dingy inn he’d stayed in when he’d been in Lundiviere. Then again, he’d been doing his best to lay low then.

As soon as his eyes met Natasha’s, he carefully made his way over to the chair next to her. By the time he was seated, she’d turned herself bodily to face him, ensuring he could see both her hands and her mouth. 

“Are you hurt at all?” he asked earnestly. He might be hurt, and devastated, but hell if he’d be the guy to forget about his partner’s wellbeing.

Shaking her head, Natasha began signing again. [I came back when I heard you…] She paused before saying, “Cried out. Yelled.” Clint nodded and showed her the signs, her sharp eyes watching intently, absorbing everything. He was certain he wouldn’t have to repeat these for her. [I found the man with the painted face standing over you. I attacked him from behind. I am certain he is missing a…] “Kidney,” she finished aloud, motioning to the small of her back.

Clint pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Shaking his head only made his vision swim a bit. He couldn’t figure out if the man wanted to take him dead or alive now. Did it really matter though?

Lifting his head to meet Natasha’s steady gaze, Clint grabbed hold of her hand again. “Thank you.” He put as much sincerity behind the two words as he could. There was no way he could convey just how much she meant to him at this point. He was well aware of the fact that this was just a job for her, but it felt like there was something… more between them. A genuine understanding.

Natasha brought her open hand to her lips. [You’re welcome.] Such a simple movement to acknowledge everything he was trying to say. He brought her hand to his lips, not quite kissing, just brushing them against the first joint of her fingers. Her smile in response was gentle.

Before he could think of any of the multitude of reasons why not, he leaned forward and pressed their mouths together. It wasn’t a deep and heavy kiss, full of nipping and dominance. It was a single point of joining between them. Everything that made Natasha, and everything that made Clint, colliding in a gently swirling exchange.

Her hand was still in his, hanging in mid air between them, forgotten. Carefully, tentatively, Clint licked at her lips. Her lips parted with a warm puff of air that he felt the urge to devour. She was everything. Fire and ice. She created a heat that built within him and felt eternal. 

Somehow, in the back of his head, he was convinced that he was going to convey all those unspoken words between them with this kiss. Gently lapping at her tongue, feeling that fire leap from her being and consume him, until there was nothing left.

The cool air on his exposed skin felt electrified. He shivered when Natasha’s free hand slid up his chest, gliding gently over his pulse pointes, to finally cup his jaw. It wasn’t from the cold, but anticipation. She held him as though he were fragile. No, not fragile. _Precious._

For years, or maybe it was minutes, they spoke this way. Gently encouraging and coaxing each other into action. Taking turns at being in the lead and exploring each other’s mouths.

When they finally pulled apart, it wasn’t far. Clint rested his forehead against Natasha’s. There was no doubt that she could feel the fire she’d stoked in his chest, in his being. Breathing each other’s air as they were only added fuel. It was another thing they could share between them. Just for them.

Abruptly, Natasha pulled away to face the door, her hand falling from his face. From this angle, Clint couldn’t make out what she was saying, but he assumed that someone had knocked. The only thing keeping him from reaching for his bow was Natasha’s relaxed demeanor.

She spared a short glance at him. [Innkeeper. Asking about food.]

He nodded and raised his voice. “Largest bowl of stew ya got!” This time he was certain of the volume, since he could feel in his throat. 

Natasha turned to face him. “No mutton?” Her lips were slightly kiss-swollen, and even more red than normal.

Laughing, Clint shook his head. “Probably not the best thing now.”

Giving him a soft smile, Natasha pulled her hand from his. [You should rest. Take something for pain after eating.]

The moment had all but evaporated, but the heat he felt still remained. Standing, Clint took a few short steps back to the bed and laid down again, careful not to put any pressure on either side of his head.

It wasn’t long before Natasha was gently touching his shoulder to let him know their food had arrived. They ate in silence. None of their normal banter and laughter. It was strenuous in a way Clint never wanted to experience again. By the time they’d finished, it was dark outside. The single window offering a small flickering light from nearby torches.

Natasha had already lit a small table lamp and was pulling a small bag tied with a delicate thread from her belt. She tugged at it to reveal a small pile of glittering dust. She added two small pinches to Clint’s water cup from dinner before retying it and placing it back. Swirling the cup, she offered it to him. “For the pain.”

Gratefully, he accepted the cup and drank it in a few gulps. His ears might actually feel better if they were actually on fire at this point. He’d tried not to show the pain, but of course, Natasha had seen right through him.

Only a few minutes later, the pain began to recede and Clint drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

When Clint awoke the next morning, Natasha was gone. Immediately, he bolted upright. Ignoring the wave of dizziness that crashed through him, he scanned the room for signs of a struggle. A folded piece of paper sat on its own in the middle of the small table, Clint’s name in a practical, clearly defined script where he could easily see it.

Leaning over to snatch it from the table, he opened it to see a brisk note letting him know that Natasha had gone out for supplies. So she hadn’t left him. He knew that she wouldn’t, but that didn’t stop the creeping doubt in the back of his mind.

Eventually, he lay back down and stared at the ceiling as the brief spike of adrenaline faded, leaving a slight tremor in his hands. He must have drifted off again, because his eyes shot open when a hand met his bicep.

He knew she could see his instant relief as their eyes met. They lost their hardened edge, ever so slightly. She watched him come back to full consciousness before starting to sign. [Sorry. You found my note. You worried.]

Using the time to sit up to come up with a decent answer, he made room for her next to him. “I don’t have to worry about you.”

A small smile played on her lips. [Not what I mean,] she signed before taking the seat next to him, still careful to face him. [I was gathering supplies and…] He could see the sigh, almost feel the breath against his skin. “Information.”

“What did you learn?” he asked as he started picking at the edges of his bandages. Damn they itch.

“I have connections here. There’s a man here that could help us.”

“Help us?” he laughed ruefully. “Help me, you mean.”

Natasha shoved his shoulder gently, just enough to rock him. “He’s a little… strange.”

Shrugging, Clint looked away to find his water cup, drinking deeply from it. She must have filled it just for him. “Well, he can’t be any stranger than us,” he countered, “Also, no coffee? Terrible room service here.” The slap on the back was completely expected.

Looking back at her with a smile, he waited for her to say something else. She’d just lifted her hands when he stood up abruptly. “Barton, you dummy!” Clint whirled around to face her. “Katie is here!” Natasha’s only response was to raise a single eyebrow. “Katie-Kate Bishop.”

He could see when she made the connection. “ _Derek Bishop’s daughter?_ ” He nodded. 

Crossing his arms in glee, he smiled at her. “One in the same. She could definitely help out. Especially with daddy’s money.”

Natasha stood smoothly, her lips pressing into a thin line. [Bishop is a criminal.]

“Well, yeah, but Katie is great,” he paused to drop his arms at his sides, “She’s perfect.”

[Okay. Where is she?] Her hands moved with just a hint of frustration? Aggression? 

“Well, last I heard, she found some shithole room in the east side of town.” He waited for the narrowed eyes, the pursed lips, the raised eyebrow of irritation. 

What he was not expecting, was for her to lean in and grab his jaw, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Is there anything I need to know about?” If it weren’t for the bandages constantly reminding him, he’d be certain he could hear each word dripping with derision.

Holding his hands up with his palms out, placating, Clint shook his head minutely. “Nothing bad. I swear! She’s a friend. Maybe the only friend I have.”

That seemed to drain the aggression from her. Releasing his jaw, Natasha took a step back. [Then we see if she is still there.]

Since the room they had was part of whatever network Natasha was a part of, they only took the essentials and left the rest. It took a few hours, but Clint eventually found a familiar street corner and brought them right to her door.

“Might be best for you to do the talking. Not everyone likes a guy beat to hell showing up on their doorstep. No matter how handsome he might be.”

Nodding her assent, Natasha took the lead and knocked on the door. A dark-skinned young woman answered. After a brief exchange and a thumb over the shoulder to indicate they were talking about him, Clint waved awkwardly. The woman opened the door wider and Natasha half turned to Clint, beckoning him to follow.

Inside was small, and messy. Not dirty, just a bit unruly. Clint’s inspection was interrupted by a harsh poke in the arm. “Ow,” he tried to put as much hurt into the word as possible.

The eye roll he got in response was unwelcome, but expected. [America says that Kate will be back soon. We can wait here.]

Clint nodded in acknowledgement, and started shuffling discarded clothing around the sofa. Sitting in the freshly cleared area, he went back to his inspection. Now that he was facing the door, he could see arrows sticking out from a crudely drawn target on the wall. Twisting himself around and craning his neck a bit, he could make out a sliver of the opposite end of the house. Only a quarter of an inch wide, but it was possible to stand at the furthest point from the target and have a clear line of sight. Seems Kate was keeping in practice.

Chuckling, he shifted back into a more comfortable position and crossed his arms over his chest. He was just about to kick his feet up onto the table, when a stern look from Natasha halted him before his boots even left the ground. He burrowed deeper into the seat, definitely not pouting, and let his knees fall open comfortably. Natasha lightly kicked his boot with another eye roll.

He kept his eyes darting between Natasha and the door. She was facing the open doorway behind him, so he could gauge potential threats from her demeanor. There was still a slight tingling, buzz in the back of his head from the stress of not being able to hear, but it was easy to put a tamper on it with Natasha to have his back.

Their host never came back to check on them, but fortunately, it wasn’t a long wait. It probably wasn’t more than twenty minutes before the front door opened, a fair skinned young woman with raven hair and a slender build entering. She noticed Natasha first, and froze. Not in fear, but wariness. It only lasted a fraction of a second, before she forced herself to relax her muscles. 

As soon as she spotted Clint though, her face went through a myriad emotions. Shock. Anger. Disappointment. Finally settling on glee as she opened her mouth, no doubt shrieking at an ear piercing decibel, and launching herself at him.

They hugged and snuggled for a moment, before Kate pulled away to punch him square in the jaw. She hadn’t put too much power behind the hit, just enough to rock him. 

Clint turned back to her, rubbing his jaw. “What the futz, Katie? I am _injured_ here.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see that Natasha had turned her back to them, but her shoulders were shaking slightly. No doubt doing her best to hold in her laughter.

“Bitch,” was Kate’s only response before standing up to glare down at him, “Do you ---- --w long it’s ---- -----?” She was obviously shouting at him, if her wild gesticulating was anything to go by.

“Katie.” No response. “ _Katie_.” Again, no response. “KATE!” At his shout, she finally turned to face him again. “I got hurt, pretty bad,” he sighed, “I can’t hear you.”

Immediately, the anger melted away from her face. “What? Uh, how?” She glanced at Natasha and said something to her that he couldn’t make out with her face turned. Natasha held her hands up, palms out, placating.

“Easy. I’m Natasha. We’ve been traveling together for some time now.” Obviously, Kate seemed to be blaming Natasha for his current predicament.

“Katie,” he said as he stood to grab her shoulder and physically turn her to face him, “I trust her,” he said slowly, holding her gaze. “She’s good.”

They stood, staring at each other for another minute, before Kate nodded. “Okay. Fine. What’re you doing here, though? You can’t hide out here if you’re in trouble. I can’t do that to America.”

“No. Nothing like that. We have a place to stay. We need help finding a guy that can help,” he paused to rub at the back of his head, “And maybe help paying his fees.” Clint peered up at her through his lashes without turning his head.

She was annoyed, but with an affectionate edge. “Clint, you dummy. I can help with the former, but I don’t know about the latter part. Daddy and I… didn’t leave things in a good place.” She crossed her arms over her chest and looked away.

“Katie, what happened?”

He could see the inhale and exhale of her sigh. “I punched him in the face after I told him that I knew all about his shady dealings, so he cut me off.” She paused when Clint threw his head back, roaring with laughter. “He may have also put a hit out on me, but you know, what can you do?” she shrugged and grinned at him, showing teeth. “So! Who are we looking for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed that. I was actually pretty proud of a few parts there. And now... KATE'S HERE! Whaaaaaaa!?
> 
> Yo! I'm on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/harishe-art) Come take a look!  
> I promise, I'm a better artist than I am a writer.
> 
> I'm also on discord! Harishe#6556 Feel free to drop me a message.


	10. I kindly threatened him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Clint’s moment of reflection was interrupted by Kate, yet again, shaking him. “Aw, Kate, no…” he moaned as the combination of fading adrenaline and being shaken just made his hands tremble and his head dizzy._
> 
> _Kneeling down, Kate got into his line of sight before speaking. “I found the doctor you were looking for. He’s really out there,” she said, twisting her face in distaste. “At least, that’s what everyone says.”_
> 
> _Lifting his head, Clint searched for Natasha. It was only once he spotted her that his shoulders began to relax, dropping slightly. “It doesn’t matter, Katie. I need him.” ___
> 
> __
> 
> __Our trio manages to find the doctor they were searching for. Hopefully he can do something for Clint._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I just wanna really thank my beta for fucking _shredding_ my chapter. Dude knows what he's doing.
> 
> I also wanna thank all my discord buddies. I don't know if I would be able to keep working on this without them.
> 
> Now, as for this chapter, there's more canon typical violence, and angst, and whump, and... you know, just read it.

It took the better part of the afternoon to get Kate caught up on everything that had happened so far. Natasha ended up doing most of the explaining when Kate got too excited about something and started pacing. Which was fine with Clint. It gave him a chance to zone out a bit, run on autopilot. It was easy to relax when he knew that both Kate and Natasha were in the room.

Without realizing he’d dozed off, Clint was gently shaken awake. [Kate has gone out to find the doctor. Do you want to wait here, or go back to our room?]

Clint fought not to shake his head. It only made his head swim. Instead, he opened his mouth to respond, but let loose an enormous yawn instead. “Does Katie know where we’re staying?” he asked drowsily as he rubbed his eye, accidentally pulling on the bandages.

The kick to his foot made him jump slightly, immediately turning his attention to Natasha. [I let her know where we are staying. She said it could take a while.]

Nodding, Clint yawned again and stood. “Then we’re probably better off heading back, right?”

[You need more…] her hands faltered, “Pain medication,” her eyes held none of their usual edge, just a gentleness to them that you had to look for. She was right, as usual. The pain had moved from something he barely registered, to an irritant since they’d arrived.

“In that case,” Clint gestured for her to take the lead, “After you, milady.” 

He didn’t need to hear the snort to know it was there.

The walk back took less time, which worked well for Clint as his head was edging on the verge of physically splitting open. By the time they’d actually made it into the room, it felt as though a fiery rod had skewered him through his ears like some kind of macabre kabob. , _Fucking take me off the grill. I’m way passed well done._

He’d managed to stumble his way to the bed and seat himself with a heavy thud that he felt in his tailbone, when Natasha handed him a cup of shimmery liquid. Her pockets truly seemed endless, but he’d never been more thankful for it than he was now. It only took minutes to kick in, putting him into another deep sleep.

Clint was awoken by the sound of children screaming and the world shaking violently, turning him sharply from side to side. He bolted upright, narrowly missing Kate’s chin. He looked around the room wildly, his heart beating so hard, he was certain she could see each beat against his ribcage.

There was… nothing. Just the same room, with all the same things. Nothing upturned or on it’s side. _Where had the children gone?_ Once he’d registered the thought, he realized that he’d been dreaming. It only took a moment to recognize the screaming as his brother. Barney, had been screeching his name frantically as they both foolishly hid in a crate, while their father, stinking of alcohol, shook it violently and yelled terrible things at them. _“Why are you so useless?!” “You’re so useless!” “That’s your problem, you don’t think!”_

His childhood wasn’t something he liked to reflect on. Drunk, abusive father, and a mother that stood by. Once they’d died, it was just him and Barney moving from one bad situation to another until they found a traveling troupe and Jacques.

Clint’s moment of reflection was interrupted by Kate, yet again, shaking him. “Aw, Kate, no…” he moaned as the combination of fading adrenaline and being shaken just made his hands tremble and his head dizzy.

Kneeling down, Kate got into his line of sight before speaking. “I found the doctor you were looking for. He’s really out there,” she said, twisting her face in distaste. “At least, that’s what everyone says.”

Lifting his head, Clint searched for Natasha. It was only once he spotted her that his shoulders began to relax, dropping slightly. “It doesn’t matter, Katie. I need him.”

Both women only gave him a few minutes to wake up properly. At least one of them had the thought to bring him coffee this time. He’d only just taken the last sip when Kate began impatiently tugging at his arm. 

The sun was hanging low in the sky when they emerged from their hidey hole, barely having time to sink below the city skyline as they quickly made their way through the busy streets and into alleyways. As they passed through a particularly dirty, and smelly alley, Kate stopped abruptly at a virtually invisible door.

He watched her knock a few series of beats before a small speakeasy opened up to reveal a pair of very grumpy eyes. Clint assumed there was some sort of exchange before the same little window quickly closed. Just as he was about to voice his disappointment, the door opened, revealing Mr. Grumpy in all his surly glory. 

He didn’t say much, merely threw a thumb over his shoulder and stepped back to let them in. The moment their feet crossed the threshold, everything transformed. Bright lights that seemed to emerge from every corner, bathing the room in a soft yellow glow.

The room itself was opulent. White marble and gold filigree everywhere. Display cases filled with all manner of items, some looking older than time, and others looking like a household item. Directly before them was a grand staircase, where a tall man with dark hair was descending. He turned his head slightly, revealing a stripe of gray at his temple, and nodded to Mr. Grumpy, who disappeared without further communication.

The man bore a sweeping red cloak, that moved as though there were a draft, even though the air was still, when he opened his arms outwards in welcome. “It seems to me that you young ladies have brought me a strapping young lad in need of my services.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “What seems to be the trouble?”

Stepping between Kate and Natasha, Clint gestured to himself. “I was injured, and now I can’t hear.”

“Alright,” was all he said before turning, his cloak flaring behind him dramatically. “Follow me.” Exchanging glances, the trio warily followed.

The doctor led them down a series of hallways, far too many than what seemed possible from the outside, until they reached a plain looking door. Inside, the room mimicked an operating theater, except it had shiny metal tables and tools. Clint, Natasha, and Kate paused in the doorway as the doctor walked to the largest table and patted it gently.

“Up you go, let’s take a look,” he said, eyeing Clint. When Clint didn’t make a move, the doctor sighed. “Look, if you don’t make it quick, you won’t get a lollipop at the end.”

Chuffing out a breath, Clint moved to the table. The exposed implements on each table he passed seemed sharper and more deadly than most weapons he’d seen. Before he could contemplate it further though, he made himself jump up to sit on the table.

He’d barely gotten as comfortable as he could when the doctor began unwinding the bandages from his head. He flinched as the final strip was unwound from under his chin, pulling at the stitches that had yet to be removed.

The doctor brought heavily scarred hands to Clint’s face and gently turned him from side to side, as though he were inspecting livestock. Without thinking, Clint pulled his chin from his fingers.

The doctor scoffed. “We can start by removing those stitches under your chin. They’re probably more of an annoyance for you than anything else, at this point.”

“Yeah, alright,” Clint responded idly, “Hey, what do we even call you Doc? Mr. Grumpy wasn’t exactly the most welcoming greeter you could’ve found.”

With a smirk, the doctor shook his head. It looked as though he said something else, but with his angled down as it was, Clint couldn’t make it out. “I’m Doctor Stephen Strange,” Strange said once he met Clint’s eyes again.

“Nice to meet ya Doc. I’m Clint,” Clint replied dryly, then gestured over his shoulder, “Katie’s the sweet looking one, and Natasha is the grumpy one. You wanna get this show on the road though?”

Strange rolled his eyes, but grabbed a couple of very shiny looking tools from a nearby table and tilted his head towards the ceiling. It only took a few minutes of uncomfortable tugging before the stitches were completely removed. It took a moment for Clint to realize Strange had finished, and looked down as the doctor replaced the tools.

“Alright, hold still,” he said before holding his hands out to either side of Clint’s head, neither making contact. An orange glow bloomed from his hands, making Clint jerk back. The glow immediately faded. _Fucking magic._ “I said to hold still. This won’t hurt you. I’m just taking a look,” the doctor said, his expression obviously irritated.

Better prepared for it this time, Clint held still when the glow grew again. It kept growing until he had to close his eyes or turn away. Abruptly, the light stopped. Clint’s eyes snapped open to see the doctor still backing away from him, his eyes wide in astonishment. 

“What _are_ you?” he asked.

Glancing at Natasha, Clint recalled their first encounter. She'd asked him the same thing. After a moment, he returned his gaze and sighed heavily, attempting to reign in his irritation and confused anger. “Why do I keep getting asked that? What else could I possibly be but me?”

The doctor’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Y-you really don’t know, do you?”

Everyone in the room (though, probably not Natasha, as Clint had never seen her flinch) jumped when Clint punched the table hard enough to split the skin of his knuckles and leave small flecks of blood behind.

“Doc, there are far too many things I don’t know, least of all why people keep asking me what the fuck I am,” he replied icily as he inspected his damaged knuckles. When he looked back at the doctor, he dropped his hands to his sides, but still appeared confused.

Abruptly, the doctor looked away from Clint to stare intently over his shoulder, no doubt listening to whatever Natasha or Kate had to say. He’s just about to look over his shoulder when the doctor nods sharply and exits the room from a second door, leaving Clint to stare dumbly after him.

Clint shifts himself to look at both his partners. “What in the actual hell did you say to him?” he asks, his eyes darting between them. 

Kate not-so-subtly points at Natasha, who merely raises an eyebrow. [I kindly told him that he could keep wondering, but that it shouldn’t affect your treatment.]

“And…?” Clint prompts after a beat.

She frowns slightly. [Then I kindly threatened him.]

It takes him a moment to process what she’s said. When it finally sinks in, he barks out a laugh, leaving Natasha and Kate to stare at him. When he looks back at them, they’re conversing, but he doesn’t even bother to try and catch up. Natasha just successfully threatened a strange doctor that emits light from his hands.

Before he could find out whatever Kate and Natasha were conversing about, the doctor entered the room with a small parcel clutched in his hand. He dragged one of the smaller tables, apparently with tiny wheels attached, over next to Clint and laid the parcel down.

The doctor waited until Cint made eye contact before continuing. “I have an idea, but I have to be honest, I’ve never attempted anything like this. I’m not sure how well it will work.”

“Well, don’t leave us in suspense, tell us what ya got,” Clint said. 

Irritation flashes on the doctor’s face before smoothing back out to his normal semi surly expression. He gently tugged open the parcel to reveal two lumps of what appeared to be amber. “My plan is to mold these into a shape that you can wear in and around your ears, then enchant them to boost your hearing.”

Clint couldn’t help the dark chuckle that escaped him. “Doc, you can’t boost nothing.”

“Actually, son, you haven’t lost _all_ of your hearing, just most of it.” The doctor ignored Clint’s scoff. “Your injuries are just too fresh for it to make a difference.”

Shifting himself on the hard table, Clint glanced between the amber and the doctor. “How long would it take?” he asked, unsure if the nervousness he felt came through in his question or not.

“Once I get the amber molded to the right shape, it shouldn’t take long to enchant them. You should be able to come back for them tomorrow afternoon.”

Again, the doctor’s eyes shifted to a point over his shoulder. After a moment, he shook his head slightly. “Honestly, don’t worry about that. As long as I get another chance to examine him, we’ll call that even.”

Clint glanced over his shoulder before narrowing his eyes at the doctor. “And if I don’t want to be examined again?”

“Not really up for debate. You can take the hearing tools if you like, but they won’t do you any good without my adjusting them to you. Hence the second examination. Well, multiple examinations as we calibrate.” The doctor’s expression looked bored as he spoke.

Clint huffed, but didn’t argue. “Alright then. We’ll see you tomorrow after lunch,” he said as he hopped off the table and walked to stand next to his partners.

That seemed to be the extent of their farewells with the doctor, as Mr. Grumpy appeared to escort them out. He opened the door for them, glowering. 

“Do not come back before tomorrow afternoon. Doctor Strange will be in a delicate ritual to execute this for you, one that he won’t even get paid for,” he said before slamming the door behind them, leaving the trio alone in the disgusting alley to gawk.

Kate tapped Clint’s arm. “Well, this is someone I hope I never have to see for myself,” she said.

“I hate magic,” Clint said tiredly.

As they exited the alley, Kate took her leave stating that America would probably attempt to murder her if she came home without the shopping in time for dinner again. After saying their goodbyes, Clint and Natasha made their way back to their room, stopping to pick up lunch and supplies for dinner along the way.

After they’d eaten, Natasha handed Clint another cup of shimmery water. “I guess I don't have as good at a poker face as I thought,” he joked, looking up at her gratefully from where he was seated on the bed.

[No. Your poker face is actually pretty good when it comes to hiding your pain. I just know you well enough,] Natasha signed, once he’d accepted the cup.

The thought of someone knowing him like that froze the cup midway to his mouth. Only Barney and Kate had ever been able to see through his bullshit, even after Clint had managed to fuck things up a bit. Nobody else seemed to stick around, especially when he pushed everyone away.

Apparently, he was taking too long, as he was snapped back into the moment with Natasha’s hand gently urging the cup to his mouth. Clint shook his head slightly and downed the drink. “Thank you.”

Before he could see her reply, he turned away and lay down facing the wall. He cared for Natasha, there was not doubt, but would it really be best for her if they stay together? Eventually, he was just going to do something that would ruin it all. The thought kept running circles in his mind. _Am I really selfish enough to keep this going, even though I know how it’ll end?_

Before he could spiral further, the bed dipped behind him. Clint flinched, but Natasha’s soothing hand ran down his arm. Just as he was going to protest, warmth bloomed along his back from head to toe, as she slotted her body in behind his own. He tensed. Even when they’d slept close enough together for something like this to happen, it had always been Clint that had migrated towards her in his sleep. Not the other way around.

Eventually, he relaxed as the medicine took effect. The drowsiness was setting in as well, allowing his concerns to flow from his mind like water.

When he awoke, it was still bright out, and Natasha was reclined in a nearby chair, reading. Not wanting to disturb her, he watched. Minutes passed this way, slow and lazy.

Natasha turned the page and shifted slightly, her face in full view now. “Are you planning on actually getting up soon, or just staring for the rest of the afternoon?” she asked without looking up.

“I appreciate a good view whenever I can,” he said slyly.

Still she didn’t look up from her book, even when her eyebrow arched. “You must have heard that from someone very wise.”

“One of the smartest people I know,” he replied without hesitation.

At this, Natasha gently closed her book and laid it on the table, focusing her sharp eyes on Clint. “You probably shouldn’t forget that either.”

Clint held his hands out placatingly. “I don’t think I could if I tried.”

The rest of the afternoon passed much the same way. Nothing strenuous or stressful. It reminded Clint of those few moments when his dad wasn’t drunk enough to be angry, and when his mother smiled.

After dinner with Kate, Natasha gave him another dose of medication, quickly putting him to sleep.

When the sun broke the horizon, Clint was already awake, staring at the near dark ceiling. He couldn’t help his eyes from darting around the room though. A knot was taking form deep in the pit of his stomach. Despite the knowledge that the doctor would be able to help him, he couldn’t help but feel that only something terrible was going to come of this. There was no real reason for it, so he did his best to shove it as deep inside as he could when Natasha began to stir next to him.

As their eyes met, Natasha smiled softly. “Are you ready for today?”

His own smile faltered. He couldn’t give voice to this creeping sense of dread he felt, instead, opting to nod.

After eating a small breakfast, Natasha announced that she needed to make a check in with her organization, leaving Clint to his own devices. For a while, he lazed around their room, growing more and more restless as the minutes passed. Before he could really contemplate it, Clint found himself out the door and walking through a small market. His eyes darted around nonstop, barely looking at any of the wares before him though. It was after the third person that bumped into him that he decided to make his way home. The second one had nearly walked away with a broken nose. Stuffing his hands in his pocket, Clint made his way back to their room.

It wasn’t until he managed to close the door that he finally felt his tense muscles begin to relax. It hadn’t even been two hours since Natasha had left. She’d said that she wouldn’t return until lunch. Letting his head fall back against the door, he sighed deeply. He already missed her company. Surveying the room mechanically, Clint’s eyes landed on Natasha’s book. Seemed as good a thing to do as any.

His heart hammering in his chest was getting really old, really fast. Once he locked eyes with the green pair hovering over him, the reason for his heart’s frantic beating changed. The panic receded minutely. Closing his eyes, he held a deep breath for a moment in an attempt to calm himself. Natasha’s playful smile greeted him when he opened them again.

“Afternoon, Sleepyhead,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “Doctor Strange said not to eat much before heading over there, so I got us some broth and rolls.” She gestured to the low table behind her, where two bowls and a plate sat waiting for them. It was then that the smell hit him, warmth and comfort in a bowl.

He could feel a slow smile stretch across his face. “That smells amazing. Thank you.”

They made quick work of their light meal. Clint was grateful that despite himself being the only one with a dietary restriction, she had the same meal as him. Such a small gesture that meant plenty.

Before the nervous knot could settle in his stomach again, Clint grabbed his boots, asking Natasha if she was ready to head out as he put them on. Glancing up, he saw her nod her affirmation.

They met Kate along the way. Clint fell back as she joined them, giving them the lead. From behind, he couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he could see Kate’s animated gesturing and Natasha’s muted nods as they walked.

Again the trio was greeted by Mr. Grumpy as they arrived. He merely glared and gestured for them to follow without a word. They were shown to the same exam room where Clint hopped up onto the table once again. Without speaking, Kate and Natasha made their way to opposite corners of the room, leaving Clint alone in the center.

They’d only just gotten settled when Strange waltzed in with a covered tray in his hands. Setting it down on the table and waited for Clint to make eye contact before speaking. “I have to admit that I don’t know how well this will work. I’m making due.” His expression was serious as he spoke. 

The everpresent knot in the pit of his stomach lurched. Clint still couldn’t understand why this felt like such a bad idea, so he merely nodded, keeping the feeling of unease to himself.

Strange observed him for another moment before gesturing for him to lie down and moving the tray to another table. Once Clint had made himself as comfortable as he could, Strange appeared over him. “I’ll need you to hold as still as possible while I work. The inner ear is a delicate system, and I need to sync these devices to you specifically for them to have any affect.” His eyes hardened as he spoke. “Once I start, I _must_ finish. Regardless of anything that may happen, we cannot stop.”

The knot tightened again. Clint nodded and clenched his hands at his sides, glancing at Natasha then Kate to remind himself that he wasn’t alone.

From the corner of his eye, Clint saw Strange remove the cloth covering the tray to reveal a small bowl, and what he had to assume were formerly the lumps of amber Strange had shown them the day before. Now they held a curved shape, like a horseshoe that had been elongated on either end.

Cool hands tapped Clint’s jaw. “I’m going to put these around and in your ears. They’ll be uncomfortable for now, but once we’re done, you won’t really notice them.” 

Clint swallowed as he looked at the tray again. Meeting the doctor’s eyes again, he nodded and shifted to allow better access to his damaged ears.

Making short work of affixing the amber in place, Strange left Clint to stare at the too-clean ceiling. Strange came back into his field of view holding the bowl a moment later. Without warning, he took a pinch of the bowl’s contents and sprinkled them across Clint’s face, making his eyes water and his nose burn.

Fighting to stay still, Clint taps his fingers rapidly against the table, holding his breath in a futile attempt to keep from sneezing. Strange replaced the tray, ignoring Clint’s staccato beating. Directly above Clint, Strange’s fingers began weaving an intricate pattern, flitting from one arrangement to the next faster than Clint could make sense of. The pace of his heart picked up, feeling as though it were pushing for escape. Strange wasn’t saying anything Clint knew, but before he could think about what that could mean as a whole, thin glowing lines of light emerged from nowhere, growing in size and intensity as he continued.

Their eyes met fleetingly, and then the glowing shapes started descending towards Clint’s face. His heart skipped a beat as they moved. The closer it came, the more rapidly he tried to draw in a breath, his chest heaving.

As soon as the delicate web made contact with his flesh, agony, sheer agony, erupted in his head. There was no build up, no easing into it. No way to stop the scream that ripped from his throat. Clint’s hands scrapped and clawed at the surface of the table. His toes curled in his boots. He could feel more screams, or maybe just the same one, tearing at his vocal chords.

Tears slid down his face as he scrunched his eyes closed, leaving cooling lines as they went. Still the pain was building. If it didn’t stop, Clint was certain his skull would split open. If it kept going, he’d probably welcome it.

Without his consent, his legs flailed, kicking wildly on the table as his back arched painfully. His animal brain was starting to take over, pushing him into a true flight or fight reflex. Just as he began to border on panic, warm hands grasped both his ankles, pushing them back down to the table. With a gasp, his eyes flew open. Natasha had moved from her corner and was watching him with an expression so concerned, Clint never wanted to see it on her face again.

Kate had also moved to his side, grabbing hold of his arms at the elbow. Clint could see the shock of his violent reaction mix with concern. Gritting his teeth, he did his best to hold back the next scream that threatened to escape.

Still, Strange exuded confidence and calm. Still, Strange pressed on. Still, Strange was unmoved by Clint’s wild eyes and erratic breathing, especially now that Kate and Natasha had moved in to help keep him steady.

The light from Strange’s hands was growing brighter now, changing colors from a warm, orange glow, to a cool, blue, then purple hue. The pain that had been building plateaued, leaving Clint’s back arched, and his limbs held steady by his friends.

More tears streamed down his face, but now he was able to painfully swallow down the screams that eagerly awaited their escape. Strange never said how long it would take. Surely Clint would pass out if it kept up.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, Natasha’s hands left his legs and her head snapped up, eyes narrowing. Struggling to keep as still as possible, Clint looked from the corner of his eyes. A moment later, the door bowed inward, before returning to its former position. Then again, bowing out, and returning. It almost looked to be breathing.

Before Clint could actually contemplate it further, another wave of agony washed over him, tearing another scream from him. His hand raised involuntarily and slammed back down on the table next to him. Kate had apparently released her hold as well.

A sharp, searing pain bloomed in his shoulder and thigh. Before he even had the chance to investigate, a deep vibration flowed from the table, rattling Clint to his bones. Strange’s hands nearly faltered as he closed his eyes, concentrating deeply.

A splatter of molten heat hit the side of Clint’s face, just barely registering in his agony. Straining to look at the door again, he saw that it had not just been ripped from its hinges, but blown completely away, debris littering the room. 

Wildly, his eyes flitted about the room. Half a dozen goons filled the suddenly small space, Kate and Natasha already engaging them. Holding them at bay. _For me._ Arrows sped over him, striking targets. The glint and gleam of Natasha’s blades as she danced between foes briefly catching his attention.

It's as a hulking figure fills the hole in the wall that Strange's hands suddenly began a fresh wave of complex gestures. Clint couldn't process any of it. His mind was being torn to pieces. His flesh flayed from his skull. This time, Clint can feel something in his throat tear as he screams. Wet and hot and radiating more pain. 

The light webbing stretching over Clint’s face reached a blinding apex brightness, blocking everything else out. At this point, the pain had his muscles so tight, Clint wasn’t even sure that he could move if he wanted to. So he lay there, arched in agony and blinded. No way to tell what was happening around him. He could be amongst the stars at this point. His last thought before darkness overtook him was only of Natasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm not all that nice to poor Clint. Dude just has a rough go of it my friends. Did any of y'all already suspect that Strange would be the doc?
> 
> Thank you all for your comments! They actually mean so much to me. I can't even express it!
> 
> Yo! I'm on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/harishe-art) Come take a look!  
> I promise, I'm a better artist than I am a writer.
> 
> I'm also on discord! Harishe#6556 Feel free to drop me a message.


	11. You Have Got to be Futzing me!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Glancing over, Clint briefly met Kate’s glorious face. She flashed a grin and a quick thumbs up before she leapt over an attacker and swatted the back of his head with her bow. Clint couldn’t help but grin back._   
>  _Kate is so fucking great._   
>  _Without looking back, Clint rapidly fired two more arrows, knowing they’d struck Tiny._   
>  _This time, Tiny didn’t even bother breaking or pulling the arrows out. He just sneered and lept at Clint with a murderous glint in his dull eyes._   
>  _Dodging the behemoth was not a possible feat at this point. So Clint ducked and braced as best he could._
> 
> High action chapter coming up. Heads up for the violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I terrible at having any semblance of a posting schedule?  
> Yes.  
> Am I terrible at writing on the regular?  
> Also yes.
> 
> Hopefully this high action chapter helps with that.
> 
> I'd also like to thank those discord friends again. They yell at me to write and do things when life gets busy. I'm very appreciative of all their support. And a very special thank you to my beta for this chapter. They completely _shredded_ me, and it was beautiful.

When Clint first registered that he wasn’t actually dead, he felt as though his brain was pouring out of his ears, nose, and mouth. It was hot and sticky; the metallic scent in the air overwhelming.

The next sensation he was aware of was that he was on his side. Which… was wrong. Why was it wrong? He can’t seem to remember.

Now the panic was making its presence known. It was already there, thrumming under the surface, but now it was there in full force, slamming into his mind like a hammer to anvil.

He needed to move! Open his eyes! Get away from… wherever he was and get back to… back to...

_Natasha._

His eyes shot open, taking in nothing but the brightness overhead. Was the world always sparkly? Clint looked to the side, blinking rapidly in an attempt to force them to adjust and focus. Strange stood over him, unfamiliar orange ropes of light floating in front of the doctor’s hands. 

A throwing knife crashed into the lights and exploded in a shower of sparks, making Clint flinch back. Somehow, Strange had erected a shield. He glanced down at Clint and said something he couldn’t make out; not that he really cared: he just wanted to find Natasha and Kate.

The room was in chaos when Clint looked around: too many bodies, too much movement for him to be able to fully process in his current state.

After what felt like ages, he finally caught sight of a red haired blur and it wasn’t until he saw Kate’s purple clothing that he finally released the breath he’d been holding. It was only a glimpse, but it was enough to let him know that both of them were upright and fighting. Clint twisted himself in order to find his bow and quiver. He hissed out a breath as he moved, his shoulder and hip alite with fiery pain. The table he’d laid himself on earlier had been overturned, now a feeble shield between him and the men pressing their attack from the door.

Still half blinded, he slid his hand around for his own weapons, ignoring the high pitched ringing in his ears. Finally, his fingers abruptly ran into the rough canvas of his quiver as another huge vibration shook the room. _There!_ His bow, half under the overturned table.

Snatching it, Clint slung his bow and drew an arrow with practiced ease. Too many shapes were darting in his still blurred vision. Clint licked his cracked lips and tried his best to see what was actually happening with Natasha and Kate. Normally, he’d worry about Strange, but if the amount of sparks emerging from that direction were anything to go off of, Clint didn’t have anything to worry about.

Taking in a slow breath, he watched as Natasha slowly came in focus. He watched her gracefully dance around three different foes before executing some complex act that made her look as though she were flowing around the poor man before throwing him into the other two using her legs. Rising smoothly, she twisted and threw a knife at another that foolishly approached her from behind.

When she looked back at Clint, she grinned, all teeth and full of a feral joy. 

Clint couldn’t help but grin back. Shaking his head, he scanned the room for Kate again, as Natasha obviously didn’t need him keeping an eye out.

Two things happened at once: Clint spotted Kate sliding on the ground and a fiery circle appeared in midair and grew, looking like a window into a sparse desert. Clint could even feel the hot, dry air move gently past his face. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his vision again. Surely he wasn’t seeing this properly.

As if to answer the questions circling Clint’s brain, two of their attackers were shoved into the window with Strange’s magic whip, kicking up sand as they fell ass over tea kettle down the steep dune. Before they could rise, the fiery circle snapped shut and Strange shifted his attention to new targets.

It seemed that… everyone had everything well in hand, which was counterintuitive to the adrenaline thrumming through Clint’s body. 

Of course as soon as the thought crossed his mind, a hulking form filled the fractured doorway, casting a long shadow across the room that made Clint shiver as it fell upon him, as if it were a tangible feeling on his skin. The figure crouched down and shoved a shoulder through before they managed to squeeze their way in.

“Ooooh, you have _got_ to be futzing me here!” Clint exclaimed in aggravation. 

He must’ve been louder than he thought, because Natasha’s eyes flashed to his and then the door, widening a fraction as they fell upon Tiny forcing himself into the room. He shoved his compatriots aside and threw one at Strange when he didn’t move fast enough.

Fortunately, Strange still had his shield raised, bouncing the hapless goon away from him in a fresh shower of sparks. Grunting with the focused effort of using so many things at once, Strange took a half step back and glanced back at Clint, shouting something he couldn’t make out in the din of battle. 

Not that Clint needed instruction. He reached back and drew two additional arrows from his quiver and nocked them. Inhaling deeply, he quickly drew the line back and released a flurry of arrows at Tiny, all three striking the center of Tiny’s chest. Clint thought for a moment he could actually hear the dull _tat tat tat_ of them sinking into the flesh. 

Tiny’s roar of pain shook the room, gray spittle flying from his mouth. He swung his arm down in front of his chest, breaking the shafts and releasing rivlets of black goo down the darkened muscles. His eyes searched the room, ignoring everyone until they locked with Clint’s. Narrowing them to slits, Tiny stalked through the battle, heedless of anything or anyone in his way. 

The sheer malcontent contained in those eyes had Clint taking a half step back, even as he reached back for a fresh arrow, nocking and firing it as quickly as he could manage. The way Tiny swatted it away was laughable, like a gnat fluttering in his peripheral. 

Strange’s shield held him at bay and Tiny’s hulking form pressed into the near invisible barrier. It lasted all of four precious seconds before Clint saw Strange gasp and the shield burst into a sparkling dust that flowed and ebbed in the air currents as Tiny made his way through.

It seemed to take a physical toll on Strange. Clint watched as he took a few wobbly steps back before dropping to one knee. 

Another earth-rending roar shook the air from Clint’s lungs, immediately drawing his attention back to the problem at hand. Clint glanced behind himself and knew he only had a few feet of space before he was forced against a wall.

Arrow.

Clint started making his way to the only corner of the room that wasn’t covered in people and blood.

Nock. 

Tiny’s head tilted as he stalked after Clint.

Draw. 

Fighting the urge to close his eyes, Clint exhaled slowly.

Release. 

The arrow struck Tiny through the cheek. If Clint's foot hadn't slipped in a puddle of blood and forced him to drop to his bad knee, the arrow would’ve stuck in Tiny’s eye. As it was, the blow only made him pause long enough to blink stupidly and reach up to slowly drag it from the wound before resuming his stalking.

Ignoring the pain in his leg, Clint stood and continued his circling, matching Tiny’s pace. He wasn’t even sure that he had enough arrows to take this guy down. He fired two more arrows in quick succession, only to have Tiny bat them away.

As Clint weighed the pros and cons of a bum rush to take Tiny by surprise, an arrow sprouted from Tiny’s ear. Tiny’s muscles seized mid prowl, mouth open, but without the howl that had previously made Clint’s bones rattle and teeth ache.

Glancing over, Clint briefly met Kate’s glorious face. She flashed a grin and a quick thumbs up before she leapt over an attacker and swatted the back of his head with her bow. Clint couldn’t help but grin back. 

_Kate is so fucking great._

Without looking back, Clint rapidly fired two more arrows, knowing they’d struck Tiny. 

This time, Tiny didn’t even bother breaking or pulling the arrows out. He just sneered and lept at Clint with a murderous glint in his dull eyes.

Dodging the behemoth was not a possible feat at this point. So Clint ducked and braced as best he could. 

Apparently, it wasn’t good enough. The pure wall of muscle that rammed into Clint knocked the ability to think out of him. One moment he was bracing, the next he found himself suspended in midair with his arm above his head and his shoulder in agony.

His breath hitching, Clint reflexively struck out with his bow, scoring a hit that vibrated through the entirety of his arm and shoulder. He’d only managed to strike Tiny’s side, probably causing no more damage than a child might, but he wouldn’t know it from the way Tiny shook Clint.

Clint cried out as his shoulder strained and popped ominously, sending more fiery pain lancing down his already injured side. Clenching his teeth, he hissed out, “This seems pretty familiar. Looks like you’ve got yourself a limited repertoire. Might wanna consider branching out.”

The glare Tiny gave Clint was the kind of look Clint could live for. Despite the pain he was currently in, despite the situation, Clint couldn’t help the smug satisfaction that he’d irritated this giant man to this point and he couldn’t hold in the laughter that bubbled from his chest.

The glare narrowed and Clint felt a puff of disgustingly humid air flow over his face. The stench made him turn his head as he gagged, but Tiny just turned and began making his way back to the door.

“Yeah, this doesn’t work for me, Tiny,” he said as he dug the heels of his boots into Tiny’s ribs and tried to pull his captive arm free. It only earned him another shake and a fresh wave of pain as his shoulder popped and crackled again. Clint nearly dropped his bow as thr pain radiated from his shoulder down to his fingertips. 

Gritting his teeth until they ached, he took a chance and lashed out with his bow, this time going for the face.

It seemed that the third time really was the charm. Roaring yet again, Tiny violently lifted Clint further into the air before slamming him down. 

If Clint were a smarter man, he would’ve been rich and comfortable. If he were a luckier man, he would be married to someone beautiful and smart. As it were, Clint wasn’t smart, and he wasn’t lucky.

Something tore in his shoulder. Clint’s mouth gaped in a silent scream as his vision whited out. When he finally regained some awareness, Tiny had traded the grip on his arm for one around his neck. Not tight enough to completely cut off his air, but those meaty, sausage fingers definitely weren’t helping either.

Weakly, he slapped his bow against Tiny’s arm, while his other dangled uselessly at his side. Thank the gods he’d managed to hang onto his weapon. His fingers twitched on his injured arm, but it was all he could manage without reigniting the painful fire in useless shoulder. It had to be dislocated - at least, Clint _hoped_ it was just dislocated.

“Nat…” he called out, hopefully sounding stronger than he felt, otherwise she’d never be able to hear him. As it was, Clint was limited on options. He could keep weakly trying to escape and hope that Natasha or Kate managed to help him before Tiny waltzed out of the room with him in tow, or he could drop his bow and see what damage he could land with his knife - hopefully without blinding himself again.

As he weighed the pros and cons of both, a short flurry of arrows appeared in Tiny’s wrist. The fingers around him squeezed erratically, alternating between cutting off his air completely and merely hindering it. Clint barely had the time to register it all before he was sailing towards the fractured doorway, the resulting tumble pulling at his burning shoulder and tearing at his flesh.

There was some time lost for a moment where the only thing Clint was aware of was the buzzing in his head and the fire raging in his abused body. He stared at the scorch marks on the formerly pristine ceiling, trying to collect himself, when a body sailed directly across his field of vision, forcing him to jump into action again.

He rolled onto his good side, his injured arm trailing uselessly behind him. When he managed to get his feet back under him, he found Tiny swinging the table he’d been on not long ago at a blurry form, clad in purple.

_Kate._

Reflexively, Clint tried to pick an arrow from his quiver, only to be painfully reminded of his handicap. Growling in frustration, he forced himself to drop his bow and feeling it bounce against his boot pained him almost as much as Strange’s spell. Doing his best not to stare at his favored weapon in anguish, he rapidly unsheathed and threw three knives, grinning morbidly as he watched all of them sink into Tiny’s thigh in a tight ‘v’.

Clint’s grin evaporated as Tiny only paused long enough to reach back and yank all three out at once. 

A moment was all Kate needed to get herself some distance though, if the barrage of arrows was anything to go by. Two landed in his chest and a third sunk deeply into the damaged thigh, every strike nearly on top of the wounds that Clint had already inflicted. The blow to the leg forced Tiny to his knee as he stepped forward and put weight on it.

As Clint pulled out his last two knives, Tiny reminded both of his attackers that he still had the knives in hand when he threw them overhand at Kate. Two bounced harmlessly off the walls over her shoulder, but one buried itself in her side. Clint’s heart stopped as the force of it turned her body and she fell heavily away from him.

“ _Kate!_ ” Clint yelled as he ran after her, heedless of the men between them. Clint ducked and dodged as he passed others in the room, shockingly only managing to get knocked off kilter once in his haste. Tiny whirled and swung at his head, but Clint slid beneath it and was back on his feet and running without a backward glance.

His fingers had just barely grazed her shoulder when Clint was ripped away. His cry of anguish was cut short by the collar of his shirt digging harshly into his adam’s apple. His eyes stayed on her still form even as he reached back in an attempt to free himself. 

Clint kicked his feet as he coughed and choked. Twisting wildly, he felt the fabric tear, giving him just enough room to turn himself and stab both knives into Tiny’s wrist. He could feel the blades scrap over the bone as hilt met flesh.

Again, he was thrown. Again, he tumbled and rolled. Again, fresh waves of agony bloomed throughout his body. None of that mattered though; all that mattered was getting back to Kate.

Fighting through a coughing fit, Clint dragged himself to his feet again. Everytime he had to get back up, he was more unsteady than the last, more bone weary and exhausted. There was a moment as he stood that Tiny locked eyes with him, those glassy eyes devoid of higher thought and reason, just projecting anger and hatred at him. 

Clint glanced at Kate when she shifted slightly, her hand rising just enough to give the room a shaky thumbs up. He didn’t even get to breathe a sigh of relief before Tiny rushed at him again.

His good hand flexed, missing the comforting weight of his bow. He didn’t have time for that now though, not with Tiny making quick work of the distance between them. Out of knives, Clint pulled an arrow from his quiver and shifted his weight back. This guy had to be stopped. It was one thing to come after him, to hurt him, but to injure Kate was an entirely different matter. She wasn’t really a part of this.

There was only a few feet between them when a fiery blur collided with Tiny’s leg mid-step. Like a tree felled, Tiny went down and went down hard. If he’d gone down any harder, Clint’s feet may have actually left the ground as Tiny bounced.

Barely able to grasp what had just occurred, Clint stared, wide-eyed and dumbfounded. His mouth fell open and he nearly dropped his arrow as Natasha stood, her blood smeared face alight with something Clint had never seen in her before. 

Giving him a wink, she drew her short sword from its sheath. It was still covered in blood from where she’d sheathed it during the fight in lieu of some weapon of opportunity, and she was too well trained to lose hold of her own. The light glinted off the metal as she drove its sharp edge through the gargantuan man’s neck.

Thick, dark blood splattered all over her front, thankfully missing any exposed skin. Tiny rolled with a thunderous shriek, yanking the blade’s hilt from her hand. Climbing to his knees, he clumsily reached up and had to pinch the blade between his fingers in order to get a good enough hold to pull it out, more blood spurting as it came free. When he yelled in agony, it shook Clint to his very bones.

Tiny’s eyes whipped around, searching for his miniscule, yet vicious, attacker. The instant he spotted Natasha, he hurled the blade at her with such force that she didn’t have time to get out of the way. Her hand rose too late and from one blink to the next, she was down.

“ _Nat!_ ” Clint shouted, dropping the arrow as he reached out for her.

He’d barely made it a few steps before Tiny reminded him that the fight wasn’t over. Clint staggered over some debris as the beast crashed into an invisible wall with a blinding shower of sparks.

Looking over his shoulder, his eyes landed on Strange, the doctor’s hands covered in those thin glowing lines once again, and blood dripping from his hairline. He shouted something at Clint that he couldn’t make out.

Glancing between Tiny and Natasha, Clint grit his teeth and drew another arrow from his quiver. Before he could change his mind, he ran at Tiny. The wall crackled and dissipated as he approached, making Tiny stumble forward.

It was all Clint needed. With the behemoth leaning forward, Clint swung underhand and drove the arrow into his eye.

Tiny howled and swung his arm out, the back of his hand connecting with Clint’s ribs with enough force to send him sailing across the room. Something cracked, more fiery pain erupting in his side. He tumbled and skidded before smacking into the opposite wall. 

He must have lost time for a minute, because Clint went from regretting every life choice that had led him to the painful moment of landing, to Strange’s concerned face hovering over him. His mouth moved, but Clint couldn’t hear anything over the screaming cacophony in his ears.

Gasping, Clint tried to lever himself upright. Being on the ground with Tiny around would only lead to more bad injuries and heartache. He’d only barely managed to lift his head a few inches before Strange shoved him back down.

“N— Nat. Kate.” he wheezed, clutching at Strange’s wrist.

The man shook his head and pointed at Clint’s mangled shoulder. His arm lay limply on the ground next to him. Logically, Clint knew he needed his arm functional to be of better use to everyone, but the panic of not knowing his friends’ state drove him to fight against Strange’s soothing hands.

After a panicky tussle, mostly on Clint’s end, Strange pinned his good hand to his chest and held up one finger. _One moment._

Clint took a shaky breath and relaxed. Apparently that was all Strange needed as he gently worked his hand under Clint, eliciting a gasp and a fresh wave of pain inducing nausea. Strange’s other hand moved from Clint’s chest to the top of his shoulder and he bowed his head to pointedly make eye contact with Clint.

Once his vision had cleared enough to only have one face hovering above him, Clint clenched his jaw and nodded once sharply. 

Strange didn’t count or wait for any other indication, he just yanked and pulled sharply all at once. The bones in Clint’s shoulder ground painfully together before a tangible pop made him sag in relief, the raging inferno in his shoulder brought to a more manageable campfire level of pain.

The moment was short lived though; Natasha and Kate were more important.

Clint shoved Strange’s hands away and slowly pushed himself up. He could see Strange talking to him out of the corner of his eye, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Kate and Natasha. Clint scanned the room when it finally stopped spinning, searching the bodies and debris that littered the floor. There! Just on the other side of the operating table: movement.

His foot slipped in a puddle of blood, twisting his ankle painfully. Clint hissed and pushed forward, his breathing harsh as he ignored the pain. As soon as he could see clearly over the side of the table, he found Kate kneeling next to Natasha’s supine form, one hand holding her side, blood oozing sluggishly through her fingers while the other rested on Natasha’s shoulder. With her head bowed, Clint couldn’t see Kate’s expression, making his heart plummet.

As he approached them, Clint shoved the table aside and his lungs froze mid breath. Ignoring Kate’s blood and tear stained face, he dropped to his knees so hard his teeth clacked together. The sharp pain hardly registered with the possibility of losing Natasha weighing on him. 

“No no no no no,” he breathed out. “Don’t do this to me Nat.” He braced his hand on the floor beside her, only to have it slip, making his side flare up in pain again as his body reflexively corrected itself. Stupidly, he stared at his hand, not understanding why it hadn’t held him up. It was smeared with his own drying blood and the black ichor that constituted Tiny’s. Vaguely, he realized it was burning his skin; already the visible areas around it were an irritated pink.

What truly dumbfounded him was the almost blinding red that coated his palm. It was fresh and thick, smeared in places; Clint glanced at where he’d tried to rest his hand and found a still growing pool of blood. Human blood. 

_Natasha’s blood._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another cliffhanger that you'll have to wait a month to get any resolution for!
> 
> But seriously, fights are _really_ hard to write and that was all this chapter was. 
> 
> Leave me a comment! I like them.
> 
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	12. I need you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ducking down, he covered his head with his hands, elbows pressing into his knees. It wasn’t fair. His own shit aside, Natasha probably wouldn’t have been in this city if it weren’t for him. Wouldn’t have needed to find this stupid doctor; wouldn’t have been here when Tiny and his gang wrecked everything. And now all their effort was for naught._
> 
> _He had to put himself back together though. None of this would do Natasha, or anyone, any good. Sniffling, Clint slowly pulled his fingers from his hair, the still wet locks slithering between them. He stared blankly at the opposite wall for a few minutes, garnering the strength to stand._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to my beta reader for making this mildly readable.
> 
> And thank you to all my discord sprinting buddies. I don't know if I could do any of these fics without you cheering me (and each other) on like you do. You all build such a wonderful community to work in.
> 
> It's mostly angst in this chapter, you know, after all that combat and action in the last one.

_The night breeze carried a chill with it that worked its way through Clint’s skin and into his bones, making him shiver. He looked up through wet lashes at Kate’s matching red-rimmed and tear sodden eyes._

_They’d made their way to the outskirts of town just as the first small droplets of rain had begun to fall. It had taken the better part of an hour to collect and bundle all the wood they’d need for their task._

_Strange and America had joined them just as they’d finished setting everything up, and now the four stood in a line with the wind scattering leaves around their feet and forced the rain into their backs. The droplets were coming faster now, so they couldn’t wait any longer, despite having dragged every possible task out that they could._

_Clint took a deep breath and grabbed the lit torch they’d left stabbed into the ground when they’d first arrived. Solemnly, he made his way to the pile they’d made, stopping a foot or so away. He couldn’t stop the hot tear that escaped the corner of his eye as he reached for the white shroud they’d laid over the top._

_The lump in his throat grew as he pulled it away, making his breath hitch. Natasha’s waxy pallor was something that would haunt him in his dreams. As would her fiery hair that splayed in a wet halo around her face. Even her lips still seemed to be quirked in a sly smile._

_“Oh gods… Nat,” he said and swallowed thickly in a futile attempt to rid himself of the ever-growing lump in his throat. “This is all my fault. I— I’m so sorry.” His words were barely above a whisper, lost in the wind and rain._

_Ignoring the trio behind him completely, he tucked the torch into a small gap and slowly leaned forward to press a tender kiss to her forehead. The lack of warmth on her skin chilled him more than the weather had._

_“I should’ve said it to you b— before…” he whispered the words into her skin. “I love you.”_

_He let his lips brush her skin for another few seconds before a gust of wind whipped around them. Kate’s teeth-chattering shudder at the biting cold was what he needed to forcibly pull himself away. He stepped back with a sniffle and squared his shoulders, as though it would make the task of lighting the pyre any easier._

__

_Quickly, he plucked the torch from where he’d stuck it, and thrust it into the pyre near Natasha’s feet and held it until a few of the branches caught. He lit another point before leaving it and stepped back as more tears mixed with the rain droplets soaking his face._

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_“Clint…” Kate’s soft voice behind him barely registered as he stared into the flames licking at Natasha’s still form, lighting the shroud. A few fiery pieces even managed to take flight before being smothered by a fat raindrop._

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_“Clint.” Kate said more firmly. He still wasn’t ready to acknowledge those behind him, so he kept watching as Natasha’s skin blackened._

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Clint shook his head violently, shaking tears loose, and looked over at Kate as she shook his shoulder roughly.

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“Gods. Are you with us Clint?” Kate said, her brow pinched in concern. 

__

He could see the words formed by her lips, but he couldn’t process them. All he could think about was Natasha, and the growing pool of blood emerging from beneath her that his gaze was drawn back to.

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He snapped his head up when Kate laid a gentle hand on his thigh. His eyes were wide and disbelieving as he met her pitying gaze. Natasha was too much of a badass to be hurt.

__

Clint swallowed thickly. Tenderly, as though she were made of glass, he placed his hand on Natasha’s shoulder. She didn’t move. 

__

“C’mon Nat,” he chuckled hollowly, “Y— you can get up now.”

__

Swallowing the lump in his suddenly dry throat, Clint laid a trembling hand on Natasha’s cheek, smearing her own blood on the too pale skin of her face. She remained unmoving beneath his tender touch.

__

It was a shock to have his body shoved aside. Clint’s hand slipped slightly, reminding him of all the damage on his side, before catching against the floor as he stared at Strange rolling Natasha onto her back. His hands worked quickly, assessing her wounds. Strange’s eyes flicked to Kate, taking in her own seeping wound before landing on Clint and barking out an order that was impossible to decipher.

__

Irritation flashed on Strange’s face as he shook Clint. “I need you with me,” he said quickly, grabbing Clint’s hand and pressing it into Natasha’s chest. Right. Pressure on the wound. Blood immediately began pouring through his fingers making his throat constrict uncomfortably.

__

“Stay with me Natasha,” he whispered, “I need you.”

__

Strange quickly made his way to an overturned table, grabbing supplies before dropping to his knees and pushing Clint’s hand away.

__

Dazed, Clint watched him work. Tearing Natasha’s shirt wider, and pouring some liquid over her. Her brow creased ever so slightly. It was enough for Clint to make himself rise up and pay closer attention. With the surety that came from years of practice, Strange’s hands fluttered over her, patching the wound.

__

Before Clint really knew what was happening, both Kate and Strange were on their feet. He stared stupidly up at them, his heart beating so hard it was on the verge of bursting from his chest.

__

A kick to his foot startled him. Kate was gesturing at Strange and Natasha with the hand not holding her side.

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Looking over, Clint saw Strange slide his hands under Natasha’s shoulders, glaring at him pointedly.

__

They needed to move her. Somewhere not covered in blood and organs.

__

Shaking his head, Clint stood, wobbling slightly, and grabbed Natasha’s thighs, working in tandem with Strange to get her out of the room. They made it a short distance down the hall before Strange steered them into another room almost identical to the one they’d been in. Identical before it had exploded into gore and viscera.

__

Gently, the men laid her on another table. Immediately, Strange shifted himself and began checking Natasha over once again. Clint numbly stepped back from the table until his back met the cold marble wall. He roughly ran his fingers through his hair, pulling harshly on the strands. The small points of pain did nothing to ground him.

__

When he was finally able to tear his eyes away from Strange’s confident movements, Clint blinked at the drying blood covering his hand. His heart rate quickened the longer he stared at it, until he could feel every fluttering beat in his temples and along his scalp. Frantically, he started dragging his palm over a clean spot on his thigh; Over and over and over again. It didn’t seem to make a difference in the brownish-red that had crept into every groove and wrinkle. Clint could feel his teeth grinding together, threatening to crack, as he continued his vicious attack on the offending stain.

__

A gentle hand on his shoulder made him jump violently. Kate was staring at him, her eyes full of concern and sympathy. Clint could see her lips moving, but nothing seemed to penetrate the haze he’d fallen into.

__

When he didn’t respond, Kate’s brows pinched together and her lips pursed. She moved closer, into Clint’s space, completely filling his field of vision. She lightly shook him and waited for the spark of comprehension to come back into his eyes.

__

It took a moment, but Clint finally seemed to come back to himself, back from the emptiness and numbness. Exhaling shakily, he could see the moment that Kate knew it too.

__

“Strange says that she’ll survive,” Kate said slowly.

__

A sharp ringing in Clint’s ears drowned out everything she said, but it didn’t stop him from reading her lips. He nodded numbly.

__

Kate’s fingers grazed his jawline as she smiled reassuringly. “You need to get cleaned up. Strange says two doors down is a washroom,” she said, face pinched in pain.

__

When she stepped back, Clint peered over her shoulder to see Strange holding Natasha’s wrist delicately between his fingertips. Even with the gray tint to her skin, she looked as though she could be peacefully at rest, all the worry and anger smoothed from her expression. Strange just looked more tired than concerned, so Clint slipped from the room. No point in him being in the way and potentially screwing up Natasha’s chance of recovery with her no longer bleeding.

__

He found the washroom easily enough, the small sign with water droplets on it being a dead giveaway. Opening the door, he barely registered the smear of blood and ichor he left behind on the previously pristine and polished wood.

__

Inside held a small stall, a sink with a large basin, and a wide mirror that covered most of the wall. Laying his hands on the sides of the sink, he let his arms take the brunt of his weight and stared into his reflection.

__

Still growing bruises and scrapes littered every exposed inch of his skin. Fortunately, not all of them looked like they’d need to be bandaged. Blood and whatever else made his hair stick up wildly. Clint angled his head to further assess when a flash of purple at his ear caught his attention.

__

Leaning closer to his filthy reflection, he tried to get a better look. Hesitantly, he reached up and brushed his fingertip along the edge. It felt smooth, like the amber Strange had used, but why was it this new gaudy purple color?

__

Gingerly, he pulled the curved lump away from his ear. It had wrapped around the shell of his ear and tapered as it came to the front and wormed its way into his ear canal, before broadening to cover the entire opening. It didn’t hurt as he removed it, just slid awkwardly from his ear.

__

He stared at the thing, now ever-so-slightly pulsing with a soft purple light. Clint turned it this way and that before looking back at the mirror and turning his head to the other side. Sure enough, the other lump was the same vibrant purple color.

__

“Yeah, this is gonna get a few comments,” he snorted and laid the thing on the counter next to the sink.

__

He did his best to wash away the worst of the filth covering him, purposefully not paying attention to his hand until the end, not being able to deal with it at the moment. It took a couple of washes to get the most of the stickiness out of his hair. At one point, he pulled a tooth from the sodden locks. When he finally felt mildly human again, he sighed and stared down at his empty hands. Fortunately, it seemed that somewhere along the way, his hand had come clean as well. He didn’t even pretend to fight the urge to wash them twice more though. The ghost of that slick and warm feeling still lingered on his skin, making it crawl.

__

Carefully, he picked up the pulsating amber, giving it a cursory look over before doing his best to gingerly arrange it around and in his ear. It didn’t feel quite as comfortable as it had before, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now.

__

Steeling himself, Clint pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway. As much as he had hated leaving Natasha, he wasn’t sure how he could handle coming back, only to find her lifeless body on that table. 

__

He thumped the back of his head against the door a few times, taking comfort in the small shocks of pain that accompanied the minute blows, and stared at the ceiling. Fine veins of color intertwined themselves in the dark wood, making it subtly shimmer. 

__

Suddenly his brain finally seemed to process something that had been building in the back of his mind; he hadn’t actually heard anything after waking up. Nothing during the fight. Nothing in the time after.

__

Angry heat flooded Clint’s body. Of course it would be his luck to go through all this and the procedure not fucking work; to still not be able to hear. The heat continued to build the more he reflected on it all, until it forced its way out of his throat emerging as an angry yell that resounded within his skull. 

__

Ducking down, he covered his head with his hands, elbows pressing into his knees. It wasn’t fair. His own shit aside, Natasha probably wouldn’t have been in this city if it weren’t for him. Wouldn’t have needed to find this stupid doctor; wouldn’t have been here when Tiny and his gang wrecked everything. And now all their effort was for naught. 

__

He had to put himself back together though. None of this would do Natasha, or anyone, any good. Sniffling, Clint slowly pulled his fingers from his hair, the still wet locks slithering between them. He stared blankly at the opposite wall for a few minutes, garnering the strength to stand.

__

Slowly, he stood. He was certain that both Kate and Strange had heard him, but thankfully, neither had come to check on him. He felt hollow and worn out. The last few weeks all catching up to him at once.

__

Whoever this guy after him was, he was going to pay for everything. And Neflheim would be too nice a place for him once Clint got his hands on him. It was one thing to go after him, but to harm Kate or Natasha because of whatever bullshit reasoning he had, it was just too much.

__

A sudden realization hit Clint like a lightning bolt; there was no more running or hiding. It was time to take the fight to their doorstep. There couldn’t be anymore collateral damage, not on Clint’s account. This man had to die.

__

Taking a deep breath, Clint flexed his hand open and shut a number of times before shaking the taught muscles loose. It wasn't like he had any other alternatives. With Natasha out of commission, Clint had lost the only line of communication he had with her organization. He couldn’t put Kate any further into harm's way than he already had, and Strange certainly wasn’t going to house them.

__

Rolling his uninjured shoulder, Clint inhaled deeply, grounding himself, He knew what he had to do. Making his way back to the small room everyone was in, holding his chin high, he barely hesitated before crossing the threshold.

__

Natasha still lay on the table, looking peacefully at rest, for all intents and purposes. Kate and Strange had retreated to the far corner, apparently to dress her wound. Clint’s eyes locked briefly with hers, Kate, finding whatever she was looking for, gave him a small nod before turning her attention back to the doctor.

__

Clint made his way to Natasha, pulling a small stool next to the table and taking a seat. Here he wavered, pausing to watch her labored breathing before gently grasping her hand and bringing it to his face. He’d almost expected her to be cold, but relief flooded through him as her hot fingertips left familiar warmth in their wake over his jawline as he positioned her hand.

__

He stayed that way for a long time, motionless except for matching his own breathing with hers. There was no way that he could actually convince her that going after this guy was for the best. It would only end up with them fighting, which wouldn’t do her wounds any favors.

__

Closing his eyes, Clint pressed his cheek into her hand. “Hopefully you can hear me, because I know this is gonna piss you off, but I promise, it’s the best of all my bad ideas,” he breathed into her skin. “You can kill me if I manage to come back.”

__

Clint brushed his lips against her open palm in a gentle kiss before placing her hand on the table next to her. Not wanting to leave her, he let his fingers linger over hers for a few more moments, before standing. A quick glance let him know that Strange was doing something, most likely stitching her wound, that Kate wasn't enjoying, if the way her eyes were pinched closed were anything to go by.

__

He waited until she gave a shaky looking exhale and opened her eyes, almost immediately locking with Clint’s. She must have seen something in his face, because her lips pressed together in a thin line. 

__

[I have to.] he signed.

__

Sighing again, Kate closed her eyes briefly and nodded in resignation. He knew she’d understand him leaving, even if she didn’t like it. Clint exited the room, returning to the battle site. Once in the doorway, he paused, surveying the room. It seemed that every inch was covered in blood and bodies.

__

Carefully, he made his way across the room, picking up arrows as he went. The ones he’d shot into Tiny were either broken, or taken with him in his escape, so the ones Clint was currently collecting were Kate’s; he’d have to remind himself to shorten his draw when using hers. It wouldn’t take her long to figure out what he was doing. She was smart and knew him well enough to know how he thought. Hopefully she’d understand.

__

Eventually, he made his way to his bow and quiver, left on the far side of the room in his haste to get to Natasha. Relief washed through him as he hefted the smooth wood into his hand. Despite being covered in god knows what, Clint couldn’t stop his lips from curling into a small smile.

__

Turning around, he looked around the room once again. It didn’t seem any better from this side, but it did showcase the drying puddle of Natasha’s blood. There were smears around the edges that he couldn’t think about.

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Shaking his head, he picked his way back through the mess, managing to pick up a few throwing knives as he made his way through. Everything he could pick up here would save him time when it came to tracking this asshole down.

__

As he cleaned and stowed his gear, Clint began to feel a sense of urgency course through him. It wasn’t until he was nearly at the door and lifted his head from the floor that he noticed Mr. Grumpy watching him from the hallway, his mouth in that perpetual frown.

__

They stared at each other for a few seconds before Clint snorted and slung his bow over his uninjured shoulder. “You gonna stop me from leaving?”

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Mr. Grumpy’s eyes narrowed further. He didn’t say anything for a moment, then he took a half step back and held his hand out, inviting Clint to pass. “Strange is nearly finished with your friend. If you want to leave, now is the time to go unnoticed,” he said.

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Clint eyed him suspiciously as he made his way past. “Are you gonna say anything to them?” he couldn’t help but ask. The last thing he needed was for them to try and stop him, hurt as they both were.

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A small shake of the head was the only reply he got.

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Nodding his head, Clint made his way out of the building quickly. It was dark out as he stepped into the dingy alleyway. 

__

The trip back to the inn garnered some strange looks and side-eyed glances from those he passed. Glancing down at himself, he could easily see why. He was disgusting. Clint shifted his gear and did his best to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible as he made his way through the winding roads of the city.

__

The inn was quiet, with only one other occupant to get by as Clint made his way to his and Natasha’s room. 

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First thing he needed to do was properly clean himself up. He didn’t need anymore attention than he already had. The only thing available to him was a small sink and a few washcloths. Not much better than at Strange’s, but it would have to do.

__

The simple act of putting on fresh clothes was invigorating. If it weren’t for his friends being injured and the pain emanating from his entire side, Clint probably would’ve considered himself to be feeling pretty good.

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Quickly packing his bag, he paused to write a short note for Kate and Natasha. There was too much to convey on a single piece of paper. Hoping what he’d gotten down was legible enough, he grabbed his gear and made his way out of the inn.

__

As he emerged back into the night, he paused; this was about as far as he’d gotten in his best of a bunch of bad ideas. He really had no real idea where to find this guy; no idea where he could be taken.

__

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” he muttered under his breath as a realization hit him. How this was still the best of his bad ideas was completely beyond him now, because the only way to find out where they wanted to take him was to actually _let_ them take him.

__

Petulantly scuffing the bottoms of his boots as he walked the first few steps down the road, Clint made his way towards the edge of town. Hopefully they hadn’t gone far after their failed attack at Strange’s. He hated waiting on the bad guys. With luck, it wouldn’t be too long before his captor came to claim him.

__

He made it out of town and into the countryside without issue. Now it was early in the morning though, and the day had taken its toll on him. Yawning widely for the third time in as many minutes, Clint threw his pack on the ground and slumped down next to it.

__

“Well this is just unfair,” he complained into the air. “They’re always showing up when they’re not wanted.”

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Clint stretched, arms reaching over his head and back arching. His tired groan was cut short as the sharp edge of a blade appeared against his neck. Slowly, he lowered his hands, keeping them open and as non-threatening as he could.

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“If you’re trying to scare me, I can’t hear you,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “Some asshole fucked my ears up.” To punctuate himself, he slowly gestured to the amber fitted around the shell of his ear. “You want me to be properly scared, you’ll have to come around so I can see your mouth. I’m damn good at reading lips.”

__

A gruff hand grabbed hold of his wrist and twisted his bad arm roughly behind his back, sending shocks of pain lancing from shoulder to fingertip.

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“Easy on the goods,” Clint hissed out, as he grit his teeth. “I’m not fighting you.”

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The hand pressed his wrist into his back, an obvious command to keep it there. Clint nodded slightly with a sigh to show he understood. The knife shifted against his skin, making his breath hitch. It was dangerously close to breaking skin, despite its dull feel. The hand came back to grab his other hand and yank it behind him.

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The relief was instant when the knife pulled away. Clint could imagine the overdone threats being used in an attempt to force his compliance.

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Pushed forward, Clint muttered a curse under his breath as coarse rope looped around his wrists and pulled harshly.

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“Okay, okay. I get it. Just take me to your leader already,” Clint griped to the knife-wielder behind him. “Just don’t forget the bow.”

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When the hands on his now tied wrists disappeared, the person stepped out from behind him, knife still in hand and pointed at Clint. To the average person, he was sure it would be threatening, but the small tremor in the man’s hand made him more nervous than the blade itself. Nervous people did stupid stuff.

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The man was of unremarkable height at build, not particularly well muscled, and wearing what were basically rags for clothes. Clint met his gaze as the man angrily pointed at the ground.

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“Yeah, I got it: stay down,” he said to his attacker. He could feel the irritation bleeding into his tone. “I’m not moving, calm down.”

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“Stay still. I don’t wanna hurtcha. I just want yer gold,” the man told him, his missing teeth making reading his lips that much more difficult, as he kicked Clint’s pack away from him. 

__

Gold? That wasn’t right. This guy was supposed to croon about how well the big boss man was supposed to reward him for bringing the catch of the day in; not go after Clint’s money.

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“Now wait a second…” Clint barely got the words out when the ragged man planted the bottom of his worn boot into the center of Clint’s chest and shoved him into the ground. His arms, tied as they were, were now pinned painfully behind him, pulling a hiss from Clint.

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“ _Stay!_ ” the man barked down at him, bits of spittle flying from his mouth. 

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Groaning, Clint did his best to roll his injured shoulder and alleviate some of the pressure on it. “I told you I was cooperating!” Clint yelled back, making the man flinch. “But you said you’re after my gold. Does that mean you’re not after me?”

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The man tilted his head in confusion, eyebrows pinching together. “I dun’t give a flying fuck about yuh. I just want yer gold!”

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Clint winced as his shoulders sagged. This was just his luck. When he went looking for the big baddies, some common mugger finds him instead.

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Taking Clint’s disappointment as submission, the man pulled his foot away and moved towards Clint’s pack, no doubt intent on rummaging through it.

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He’d barely gotten two steps away when Clint lunged, hooking his foot around the man’s ankle and yanking it back. The man threw an arm out in an attempt to break his fall. Ready for it, Clint rolled and kicked out again, this time connecting with the man’s throat.

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Dropping the knife, the raggedy man fell on his side, visibly coughing and wheezing as he held his damaged neck. Clint rose to his feet and watched the man gag dispassionately.

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“Today is not anyone’s day, it seems,” Clint muttered to the man before dropping to one knee, hands still bound, to grab the discarded knife. It wasn’t even that sharp, just some scrap that had been thrown out and this man claimed as his own. He’d only just gotten his fingers awkwardly around the sweat slicked leather of the hilt when something in Clint’s peripheral made him jerk back instinctively.

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It seemed that Clint still had a bit of luck left, since the bola missed him and flew past his face. He barely had time to process it before a second wound its way around his neck, the weight connecting painfully with the edge of his jaw. 

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Falling heavily on his already damaged side, Clint’s mouth automatically opened in a gasp, only to stop short, making him choke and drown out the ragged man next to him.

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The knife! He had to get to the knife. Frantically, Clint looked around for it, finally spotting it near his feet. Apparently the force of the bola hitting him had knocked him further away than he would’ve thought.

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With the burning call for air spurring him on, Clint wormed and writhed his way over to the blade. Clint attempted to control his growing panic, focusing on getting his hands free before dealing with the bola and the newest threat.

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As soon as he’d gotten close enough to the weapon, Clint rolled, fingers frantically searching for the damp handle again. A fingertip grazed the blade.

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A clean, dark boot stepped in front of his face, dragging his dimming gaze upwards along the dark clothes, only to land on a pale painted face. _The painted man._

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Even with his vision going darker, Clint could easily tell the man was still in pain from the way he held his weight. The unkind smile leering over him told him he wasn’t going to help Clint out of his predicament.

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Clint still worked at getting a hold of the blade, but the man looming over him merely stepped over him and kicked it away, an angry grimace on his face. Clint was left to absently open and close his mouth in a futile attempt to fill his burning lungs as the man watched him intently. 

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That pale face was the last thing he saw as his vision faded completely to black.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me comments! Or message me directly! I promise, I don't bite.
> 
> Yo! I'm on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/harishe-art) Come take a look!
> 
> I'm also on discord! Harishe#6556


	13. This’ll be really comfortable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I have to piss,”_ Clint tried to get out from behind the gag, hoping that his captor would understand.
> 
> The man’s eyes narrowed, and after a moment he squatted down, waving his finger at him in a less than subtle command for Clint to behave himself.
> 
> Glaring back, Clint nodded minutely. It wasn't like he was any happier to be stuck with this guy than he seemed to be with being paired with Clint. That could have something to do with Natasha stabbing him in the kidney, though. 
> 
> The painted man stood carefully and took a step back but didn’t try to assist Clint in getting upright. Grunting through the cloth gag, Clint struggled to his knees, when he didn’t get shoved back down as expected, he awkwardly made his way to his feet. 
> 
> Turning slightly, Clint raised his bound hands behind him in a silent reminder that he’d need them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a few days later than I wanted it to be, but between the holidays and my beta making swiss cheese of this chapter... Well, it is what it is. I absolutely adore all the effort they put into this chapter with me.
> 
> **Betas do the Lord's work and you can't change my mind.**
> 
> Mind the new tags!

Coming back to reality was slow going, and painful. All of Clint’s limbs were aching and cramping, his wrists aching behind his back where they were still bound with coarse rope. Even his good shoulder was in pain, so naturally the one that had been dislocated was screaming at him. To make matters worse, wherever he’d been put, he was on his already injured side, so the screaming pain radiated from not only his shoulder, but ribs and hip, making it feel as though he were laying on a bed of nails.

A band of fabric covered the entire lower half of his face, already chafing from Clint’s sweat. Scrunching his eyes together and holding his breath, he steeled himself against the awful feeling. When he didn’t feel like screaming anymore, he breathed out in a rush through his nose and slowly opened his eyes. Light filtered through gaps between boards, letting him see brief slices of outside.

Shifting, Clint tried to get a better look at his surroundings, only to find them completely limited. That asshole had literally stuffed him in a wooden trunk. Angrily, Clint thumped his head against the side of the trunk, not caring as a new throbbing pain grew on the side of his head.

This guy didn’t seem to be taking any chances. It's easier for people to ignore a trunk then someone hogtied in the back of your cart, or carrying an unconscious body. Eventually he’d have to let Clint out though, at least, Clint hoped he’d have to let him out. Sighing heavily, Clint settled into a slightly less uncomfortable position and hunkered down to wait and see.

Apparently, he’d managed to doze, despite the pain, since he was brought back to full awareness with an abrupt stop. His neck was sore from the angle the trunk forced it into. Clint did his best to stretch it in the cramped space when he actually registered that they weren't moving. Hopefully, the pale-faced man would let him out soon. On top of everything else, Clint really needed to pee.

The light filtering in through the boards of the trunk had dimmed slightly. It had to be late in the afternoon or early in the evening by this point.

A shadow crossed in front of the box, which was the only warning Clint got before the lid swung open, washing him in late afternoon sunlight. Clint did his best not to shy away, squinting against the sudden brightness.

Hands reached in to grab his biceps and yank, not pulling him up and out of the trunk, but against the side, tipping the trunk over and sending Clint tumbling out into the grass.

Clint's mouth opened to cry out, but the fall had knocked the wind out of him. The horrid feeling of not being able to pull air in, making him wheeze and writhe at the feet of the man that had deafened him. The painted man stared down at him with disgust, as though he’d stepped in manure.

When Clint finally regained his breath, he stretched his sore limbs as best he could, only taking his eyes off the painted man to see that they were completely alone and in the middle of the woods.

 _“I have to piss,”_ Clint tried to get out from behind the gag, hoping that his captor would understand.

The man’s eyes narrowed, and after a moment he squatted down, waving his finger at him in a less than subtle command for Clint to behave himself.

Glaring back, Clint nodded minutely. It wasn't like he was any happier to be stuck with this guy than he seemed to be with being paired with Clint. That could have something to do with Natasha stabbing him in the kidney, though. 

The painted man stood carefully and took a step back but didn’t try to assist Clint in getting upright. Grunting through the cloth gag, Clint struggled to his knees, when he didn’t get shoved back down as expected, he awkwardly made his way to his feet. 

Turning slightly, Clint raised his bound hands behind him in a silent reminder that he’d need them. 

The man cocked his head to the side as he considered him. It took a second, but he finally stepped forward to quickly unlace the front of Clint’s breeches. Clint yelled and took an uneasy step back, a litany of no's running through his mind. His breath hitched when he ran into the back of the wagon. 

The man stepped with him, well into Clint’s space, his expression bored as he pulled the last knot loose and pressed his hand into Clint’s chest; as though this was just something to check off. 

Already off balance, the pressure from the hand and his arms trapped painfully behind combined and forced his back into an uncomfortable arch, showcasing the fact that his breathing was less than even.

Clint didn’t really know what he expected when he came up with this terrible plan to be purposefully captured, but this kind of assault definitely wasn’t even on the list. He wouldn't sit idly by and let it happen though. 

The painted man made sure that he had Clint’s full attention before aggressively pulling Clint’s pants open with a rough efficiency. Clint couldn’t help the denials that poured from his mouth. He couldn’t be sure the man understood the words through the gag, but Clint was certain he understood the sentiment. 

When Clint pushed against the hand on his chest, the man pressed his finger to his own lips to silently shush him, which just made Clint’s heart quicken. The painted man kicked the inside of Clint’s ankle to widen his stance, sending Clint off balance briefly.

With a cold intent, the painted man yanked Clint’s breeches completely open and pulled them down far enough to free his cock. Then he stepped back, still holding eye contact with Clint.

It took a moment for Clint’s brain to catch up to what was actually going on. When he did, Clint let out a shaky breath and felt the tension start to drain from his shoulders. The man wasn’t going to take advantage of him, he was actually going to let Clint relieve himself.

As he got his balance back, Clint was struck with another problem: he couldn’t use his hands. Not only that, but he was going to have to walk around with his dick hanging out. Clint glared at the painted man again as he walked past him. They both knew this was an unnecessary power play. Hell, the trunk was too. 

Eventually, Clint worked out the least awkward way to lean against a tree to not piss all over himself, all under the watchful eye of the painted man. After all that, he was so uncomfortable and mentally off balance that he could barely empty his bladder. Ignoring his aching joints, Clint shoved himself off the tree with a grimace and turned back to him, raising his bound hands again.

The painted man just shook his head and walked towards Clint, who did his best not to step back again, a full body flush working its way down his body.

With clinical indifference, the painted man put Clint back into his pants and laced them back up. Standing upright again, the painted man placed a couple of fingers under the gag, against the edge of Clint’s jaw, right where the bola had struck him, ignoring Clint’s hiss of pain, and forced Clint to look directly at him. Then he tapped his finger to his own lips again before lightly flicking the cloth tied tightly around Clint’s mouth. 

_Stay quiet and I’ll take it off._ The unspoken message was clear enough.

When he nodded, the man pulled Clint’s uninjured shoulder down to gain easy access to the knot behind his head. As soon as the damp fabric was off his face, Clint straightened and said, “I might not be able to hear you, but I can read lips.” He paused to see if the man would acknowledge him. “Dickhead.”

The punch to the gut wasn’t totally unexpected, didn’t stop it from hurting. Doubled over and coughing, Clint couldn’t do anything to stop the painted man from affixing rope around both ankles and lashing them together with another short piece of rope.

Just as he was able to stand upright again, the painted man pulled the last knot harshly and stood in front of Clint again with his eyebrow raised. Glancing down, Clint could clearly see that he wouldn’t be able to walk, let alone run with how limited his range was. He’d be lucky to take a quarter of his normal stride like this.

Clint was left standing as the painted man walked around the front of the cart. It was easy to see him pat the horse’s neck and unhitch it from the cart. He led the horse a short distance away, never fully taking his eye off Clint - not that he could go anywhere - and tied it off with a short lead so they could feed.

When the painted man returned, he dug through the cart, only stopping to pull out a small bag. Once freed, the man walked a short distance and started putting together a small fire. When he kept glancing at in Clint’s direction, obviously wary of him despite being still being tied up and not moving, Clint couldn’t help but scoff.

“Paranoia suits you,” he said derisively. 

Narrowing his eyes, the painted man stood and quickly made his way back over to Clint, the fire all but forgotten. There wasn’t much Clint could as he leaned in too close, the scent of grease paint and horse rolling off of him, and roughly grabbed Clint’s tied hands and shook them. When he let go and stepped back, the painted man tapped his own wrists together between them. Apparently now it was safe for Clint to have limited use of his hands.

“Yeah,” Clint paused to clear his throat. “Yeah, I get it. I won’t fight you.” 

Clint waited for the perfect moment as hands were untied. The moment the man's cool fingers landed on his wrist, Clint sunk his fist as deep into the painted man’s stomach as he could, smirking at the wheezing breath as the man doubled over. The hands that had risen to block the punch were instead used to grab hold of Clint’s wrist. As if he could get far.

“Tit for tat, bitch,” Clint said smugly.

Face still pinched in pain, the painted man quickly re-tied Clint’s hands in front of him, tugging harshly to cinch the knots. Clint let it happen, wincing at the burn. It wouldn’t help his plan if the man hindered Clint any further. He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders, as if to prove the punch hadn’t bothered him, despite both of them knowing better. His entire midsection had to be on fire between both Natasha’s earlier wound and Clint’s assault.

The painted man turned, as if to walk away, but turned back sharply to punch Clint in his already abused jaw. Clint thought he felt something crack as he hit the ground, gasping. Between his jaw and not being able to protect his ribs as he went down, Clint’s entire body was awash in fresh pain.

He groaned, rolling onto his back, trying to minimize the pain. The painted man smirked down at him in grim satisfaction before walking away. It took a few minutes before Clint could make the effort of awkwardly and painfully climbing to his feet. When he finally stood, the painted man was watching him, a satisfied smirk on his face. 

They ate an awkward meal, both men silently keeping a wary eye on each other the entire time. Clint struggled with his hands tied, but did his best not to show it. If he was honest, Clint was more unnerved by the fact that the guy hadn’t actually tried to speak to him yet. 

Watching the man eat, Clint started wondering if the reasoning behind the face paint get up was more likely due to horrific scarring of some sort or him being just that ugly. It was enough to keep him entertained until the end of the meal. When they’d both finished, the man rose to gather his bedroll from the cart.

“Alright, where’s mine?” Clint asked, raising his chin to point at the roll the other man was holding.

The man set his roll aside with a sigh and leaned forward to yank on the ropes around Clint’s wrists, pulling Clint to him.

“Hey!” Clint cried, but didn’t fight the pull.

Swiftly, the man tied another short length of rope to those around Clint’s wrists, and attached the other end to the connecting rope between Clint’s ankles, forcing him into another hunched position. He probably wouldn’t get much sleep with his knees pulled up around his shoulders.

“Oh, yes. This’ll be really comfortable,” Clint said sarcastically.

Glaring, the painted man rose and kicked Clint with the bottom of his boot. It was more of a harsh shove than an actual kick, but it still knocked Clint painfully onto his side. Sucking air in through clenched teeth, Clint glared right back.

“That was just uncalled for,” Clint said, attempting to awkwardly right himself, only to be shoved back down.

The two men glared at each other for a moment before the painted man pointed at the ground angrily and made his way to the front of the cart.. 

“Yeah, yeah. Stay put,” Clint muttered, straining to see that far into the darkness. It was the first time he’d been left on his own since being unceremoniously dumped out of the trunk. It wasn’t until he laid his head down on the ground, looking under the cart, that Clint saw a flash of hooves. The painted man must be securing it for the night.

A few minutes later, the man walked back, opened his bedroll and lay down. Clint shifted, attempting to find a more comfortable position and failing miserably.

Sleeping in fits, morning came around far too quickly for Clint. The painted man rose well before the sun had risen, but left Clint tied, wrist to ankle, while he packed the tiny cart.

“Hey, you got a name or something?” Clint asked. It was half an attempt to distract himself from the pain, half trying to get some intel. Annoying his captor would just be a bonus. Just cause he needed the guy to get him to his boss, didn’t mean he couldn’t annoy him.

The man turned and pressed his finger to his own lips. He really had something against Clint talking to him.

“I get it. Shut up,” Clint replied. “And I promise, I will. As soon as I have something to actually call you.”

Shaking his head, the painted man turned his back on Clint and went back to arranging items in the cart.

“Okay, I’ll just come up with something for you then,” Clint mused aloud. “What about… Kip? No, too normal for you. Kurt? Nah, too fun.” He knew he was rambling, but didn’t bother stopping. The irritation in the other man’s movements was worth it. “I mean, if we’re going to stick with your branding, I guess I could just call you Clown or something.”

That seemed to be the last straw. His captor approached him, shoulders hunched and mouth pursed into a tight line, as Clint failed to maneuver himself away. “Wait, just hear me out—” Clint tried, only to have the man pin him with a knee on his shoulder, drawing a gasp from him.

The painted man merely leaned down and lay a hand over Clint’s throat, squeezing briefly before letting go, and narrowed his eyes at him.

_Don’t fight or I will knock you out._

Maybe Clint was embellishing, but the intent was clear. Drawing in a deep breath, Clint closed his eyes and nodded, groaning as the man stood, giving him a shove to push himself up. The little rest he’d managed had brought his ever-present aches and pains to a nearly manageable level, but the weight of a full grown man reignited everything.

It seemed the last thing that needed to be loaded up was Clint. With a practiced efficiency, Clown released Clint’s wrists from his ankles, but not each other. Clint couldn’t blame him for being wary of another gut punch.

He didn’t try to help Clint, letting him slowly stand, not knowing what to expect next. Was he going to put him back in the trunk? Let him sit in the back of the cart? Would he even let Clint see where they were heading?

Most of his questions were answered when a lead, tied at the front of the cart - probably so Clint couldn’t get his hands on the knot - was attached to his wrists, forcing him to stay within a few feet of the end of the cart. He then leaned down and added slack to the rope running between Clint’s ankles; it gave him enough room to walk comfortably, but not run.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Clint groaned. Clown was going to make him _walk_? With all these injuries? He must have pissed the man off more than he realized.

Climbing into the front seat, the painted man glanced over his shoulder with a smirk that made something in Clint’s stomach drop, then harshly shook the reins. The horse took off at a trot, nearly making Clint fall as he was yanked forward suddenly. There was a steady stream of curses flowing from Clint’s mouth as he caught his footing.

There weren’t any stops until the evening, Clint was exhausted and barely able to stand when Clown let Clint loose from the cart to relieve himself, eat, and sleep. He didn’t even have the energy to attempt getting any more information from the man. Waking brought its own fresh hell, everything hurt and all Clint could do was try to keep from being dragged on the dirt roads. 

A routine formed over days, with Clint constantly reminding himself why he was putting up with all of this and looking for any real indications of where they could be heading. He had some idea, but not enough to try escaping and finding Clown’s boss on his own.

It had to have been on the fifth day that the feel of the road changed. No more were the soft crests and valleys of a dirt trail. Those had slowly turned into overgrown and uneven brickwork, and then smoothed out into something better cared for.

Eventually, they came to a stop in front of what Clint could only describe as a small castle. There were two asymmetrical towers framing in the bulk of the stone building. Clint was finally more accustomed to walking all day, but not enough that he was feeling good about his chances of doing any real damage to anyone here.

Clown untied the lead from the front of the cart and yanked him forward, into a large doorway. Clint did his best to keep track of their path through the building, but it was deceptively large inside. Finally, they came through a large door, where Clown yanked harshly on the lead, pulling Clint forward and onto the cold stone floor. Crying out as he landed, his hands uselessly trying to break his fall.

Pushing himself up to his knees, Clint looked around the room. A large table with chairs sat off to one side and tall windows let long rays of afternoon sunlight into the room. One of the large blocks of light hit the back of a large, comfortable looking chair, casting the man in it in a shadow so dark, Clint had completely missed him as they entered.

Squinting, Clint gave his eyes a second to readjust to the contrasting light. The man looked familiar, but Clint couldn’t place him. He was bone thin and very frail looking.

The thin man smiled crookedly, equal parts pain and humor displayed in the action, and leaned forward to inspect Clint.

“Ah, Clint. I’m so glad we get to meet again,” he said, his body trembling with the effort. Clint’s confusion must have shown on his face, because the man laughed joylessly, causing a coughing fit that made the blanket in his lap shift down his lap. 

Once he managed to sit upright, the man wet his lips and continued, “You at me look as though we’ve never met before. I thought for sure I would’ve left a mark on you.” Clint narrowed his eyes at the pointed words. The man smiled grimly and tapped the front of his shoulders, right where Clint’s starburst scars were.

Slowly, everything started to make sense. How this guy knew about Barney, why he’d sent Jacques after him, even knowing where to potentially send goons to get him. This man knew Clint well. 

Buck Chisholm. Trick Shot.

This was the man that had taken him and Barney in when everyone else had abused and taken advantage of them. Buck had seemed to genuinely care about a pair of orphaned boys, showing an interest in teaching them skills they’d need to survive, even teaching Clint archery. They trusted him. 

What he hadn’t shared was that he was a thief. In charge of a troupe of performers, Buck had them travel around and steal from any and everyone they could get the hands on. When Clint had confronted him about it, Buck had laughed, telling him it was the way of the world. 

Then he’d given Clint an ultimatum, join them or get left behind. Clint may have been morally gray for the most part, but that was something he couldn’t do. So Buck had left him pinned to a tree, an arrow in each shoulder.

 _Can’t have you toddling off to alert the authorities,_ Buck had told him before leaving him to bleed out. 

It had been an especially low point for Clint. Barney had sided with Buck, not wanting to be left behind. Clint had been completely alone after that.

With a roar, Clint flung himself forward, intent on killing Buck, ignoring his muscles screaming at him and the fact that he was still bound. Or he tried. Before he could so much as rise to his feet, enormous hands stopped him, forcing him back to his knees. Enraged, he shouted curses and death threats poured from his mouth like a waterfall until the hands gave him a harsh shake.

Twisting to see who was keeping him from his revenge, Clint found none other than Tiny, staring back with grim amusement loyally protecting his master. One eye was covered with a bandage and an aggressively stitched wound in his neck gave testament to their last encounter. Stilling, Clint glared at the humanesque mountain, trying to convey every dark intent with his eyes alone. Tiny’s shoulders shook. At first, Clint thought he was angry, but then a disgusting smile split the giant’s face.

He was _laughing_. 

Clint steadily met Tiny’s eyes when he finished and sneered, “I’m going to finish what Nat started and kill you.” The words were stated simply, no embellishment; a clear fact.

Something twitched in Tiny’s face as they stared each other down, then his eye flicked away. A moment passed before Clint was forced by Tiny to face Buck again. His ever present hands weighing heavily on Clint’s shoulders.

“I’ve just been told that you’re deaf now?” Buck asked, gesturing vaguely off to his side, where Clown was standing, his face blank, but the tenseness in his shoulders giving away that he wasn’t completely unbothered by the words. “It seems to be something he left off his last report. Good help is so hard to find,” Buck said, as if sharing a friendly joke.

As a fit of coughing wracked his body, Buck pulled the blanket in his lap back into place with a shaky hand. “I assume you can still read lips though? It was always such a boon for me when you were younger.”

“Can we just cut to the chase here?” Clint asked instead of answering. “You’ve taken enough from me already, stop wasting my time.”

Buck’s shoulders shook with amusement. “I see you haven’t lost that angry streak.”

“And I see you’ve lost a lot of weight,” Clint said disdainfully, “The years have not been kind to you.”

“No… No they haven’t,” Buck replied, shaking his head. “But that’s why you’re here.”

Clint barked a humorless laugh, but sobered quickly watching Buck’s reaction. His face wasn’t incredulous, as Clint expected, just… smug. 

“You really picked a good name to go by: Triboulet, a fool.” Clint said calmly, ignoring the gnawing feeling deep in his gut. "Especially if you think I'd do anything to help you. 

That smug smile grew. “You don’t really get a say in that, son.”

Clint’s response was cut short as Tiny hauled him painfully to his feet. With his ankles still tied and no chance to get his balance, Clint was mostly dragged out of the room.

“Hey!” Clint yelped, hop-stepping to keep from being completely dragged.

Apparently not wanting to slow his pace, Tiny ended up carrying Clint around his midriff, the hard muscle of his forearm digging uncomfortably into Clint’s injured side. Clint was not a small man, so lifting him couldn’t be easy, which would be hilarious any other day. They continued down the hallway this way, Clint doing his best to not bite his tongue as he bounced, and Tiny occasionally shifting Clint’s weight.

Clint did his best to keep track of their path, barely registering that they’d stopped until Tiny opened a heavy-looking door and tossed him into a dark room. Clint couldn't tell whether Tiny's parting expression was a grimace or maybe more of a sinister smile before the door was shut firmly. 

“Yeah, fuck you too!” Clint shouted after him.

There was only a thin sliver of moon, barely visible through the barred window, that didn’t do much to light the room. Even if Clint could use his hands, he wasn’t even sure he could reach the way out. Sighing, he made his way to the closest wall and sat up, leaning heavily against the stone. 

Now that he was where he wanted to be, Clint just had to figure out how to stop Buck, hopefully without getting himself killed in the process. He was still a little shaken by his sudden appearance and didn’t know what Buck wanted, but it wouldn’t really matter in the end. Not as long as he could Natasha was safe.

 _Step One: Get free._

Working at the knots, he eventually got them loose enough to free his hands, rubbing at the overlapping, angry red marks wrapped around his wrists. The Clown might have thought him secure, but Clint hadn’t seriously tried to get free, instead choosing to go with it all to get here. It was easier to pick at the knots around his ankles. Completely free of the ropes, Clint stood and stretched his sore muscles and set out to inspect the room as best he could in the dim light. Hopefully his captors wouldn’t be too put out over him getting himself free. Buck knew he’d had training, so it shouldn’t come as too much of a shock for him.

 _Step Two: Get out of the room._

All he found were some rags that someone might call a blanket and a disgusting-looking chamber pot. Clint retreated from it when the smell made him gag. It only took another minute to determine that there wasn’t anything helpful. So much for step two. 

_~~Step Two: Get out of the room.~~ Wait for the right moment._

Not wanting to risk some sort of parasite from the “blanket”, Clint slid down the wall, sitting heavily. The cold crept through his clothes, chilling him enough to wrap his arms around himself and watch the clouds float lazily across the window, blocking the light and leaving him in complete darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting towards the end of it folks! What will Clint do now that he's on his own? Not sure on the exact count, but we're reaching the last handful of chapters.
> 
> I'm hoping to have this finished soon. There's a fun event (The WinterHawk Olympics Big Bang) that I've already got an idea for. Sign ups start in January, so check out their Tumblr page if you're interested!
> 
> As always, leave me a comment. Let me know what you think. 
> 
> Yo! I'm on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/harishe-art) Come take a look!
> 
> I'm also on discord! Harishe#6556


	14. What I am is pissed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Clint, son, come have a seat,” Buck said conversationally, as if Clint had any choice in the matter. He gestured with an unsteady hand to the unoccupied altar. “The boys will help you get comfortable.”_
> 
> _“Uh, no…” Clint fought the building sense of unease, as well as the hands shoving him into the stone dais, his hips running painfully into the hard edge. “Get your hands off of me you sons of bitches!”_
> 
> _Thick, meaty fingers wound into Clint’s hair and pulled his head back sharply, forcing him to arch his back, which only put on display that his breathing was getting more and more uneven. Clown stepped into his field of vision, waving his finger at him condescendingly. His eyes flicked to Tiny and he gave him a single nod._
> 
> _A whirl of motion and Clint’s world exploded in pain when Tiny slammed his head into something hard and unyielding. Pain lanced from his temple down to his toes. Sparkling lights danced in his eyes and inhibited his vision. He could feel himself being lifted up, and his limbs manipulated, but he couldn’t seem to do anything about it, his limbs were too uncoordinated._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord, Discord writing sprints are the only I get anything done anymore! Thank you to all my wonderful sprinting buddies! You're all amazing.
> 
> And again, thank you to my wonderful, amazing, hurts-me-out-of-love beta. You're helping me so much. I couldn't do it without you.
> 
> Just a heads up, Clint gets tortured here. It's not terribly graphic, but he does get some boo-boos.

Buck and his goons left Clint in that dark room for two days. Two days of virtually no contact, and being alone to worry over his decision to be here on his own. Natasha was constantly on his mind, warring with Clint coming to terms with the fact that Buck was the one behind all of his recent misery.

Twice a day, Tiny opened the door, never stepping foot inside, and dropped a bowl of some mushed food and a bucket of water, most of both spilling out onto the dirty floor as they landed with a loud clanging. Clint did his best to figure out a way past the hulking man, but his broad shoulders almost completely filled the doorway. He had to be part giant or something because Clint was a tall guy, and Tiny still managed to make him feel small.

It was difficult, but Clint did his best to keep himself occupied with exercises and stretches while he tried to recall their winding paths through the building, just because he hadn't figured out a way to escape didn't mean there wasn't one. He was certain that he could get back to the room he’d first met Buck in, but he was less certain about being able to actually get out. Picturing Buck as he’d known him before was almost painful after seeing what he’d become. Didn’t matter that he hated the man, with the time alone, he’d started to recall those soft moments where Clint had thought he’d actually cared about him and Barney. Whatever had happened, or was happening to Buck, he deserved. And then some.

The more he had thought about Buck and that he still wasn’t rid of him, the angrier Clint grew, clenching and unclenching his fists as they itched to hold his bow. He’d been hurt by this man as a child, and thought he couldn’t hurt him anymore; Clint had to learn the hard way that he could be hurt in more ways than physically. His thought now brought full circle to Natasha and how she’d been injured trying to help him regain his hearing, Clint could feel rage filling him, threatening to spill over without a proper outlet.

This whole stupid plan - if you could still call it that - wasn’t going anything like he thought it might, and yet, he still haphazardly continued on, as though he could just punch his way out given the opportunity. He couldn’t even hear someone approaching his door to try and surprise them, the stupid ‘hearing’ devices not working.

Clint ripped the chunks of amber out of his ears, his fingers uncoordinated in his frustration, pulling harshly at his hair in his haste to remove them. Narrowing his eyes, he stared at the offending items, still glowing faintly, as if they could explain to him where everything had gone wrong and just refused to share.

With a roar, Clint threw Strange’s inoperable devices across the room, watching them bounce off the wall before tumbling across the floor a few feet away from him. What was the point of hoping they’d start working anymore? He took a shaky breath and sat heavily, the tide of his anger ebbing, leaving him hollow and alone.

A small, growing light caught Clint’s eye. Looking over, he saw the purple lumps of amber pulsing with a light that seemed to emanate from within, growing brighter the longer he sat and watched it. Hesitantly, he reached forward to grab them. As soon as his fingertips brushed the smooth surface, he held his breath when he heard a faint humming, deep and rich,.

When he pulled his hand away, the humming stopped. Clint tilted his head as he scooped them up into the palm of his hand. The humming returned, louder than before. He shook his head. There was no way that they’d suddenly start doing what they were supposed to. Clint glanced at the wall. Was it really that simple? 

The humming grew louder and an itch built deep in his ears; it wasn’t until he brought the hand holding the amber towards his face that the itch began to recede. Carefully, he put them back into place, arranging them as they’d been before. The humming growing to a crescendo before abruptly cutting off as the amber was finally worked into place.

Clint held his breath and cocked his head to the side, eyes losing focus as he strained his ears. Seconds passed, but finally he could make out the soft chirping of a songbird. The sound unfamiliar, but still beautiful.

Gasping, he sat heavily on the floor, fighting back actual tears of joy at being able to hear his own sharp intake of air.

“Are you futzing kidding me?” he breathed, only hearing the harder consonant sounds as he spoke. He laughed in disbelief, the last remnants of his anger giving way to relief. After all that shit, it just took him throwing the damn things to make them work.

It was late at night on the second day when the door to Clint’s cell opened to reveal Tiny and Clown. Tiny’s eye now covered in an actual eye patch, instead of a bandage, which only added to the angry sneer he always seemed to have on his face whenever he saw Clint. Meanwhile, Clown just seemed bored and indifferent when regarding Clint, like he was beneath him.

“Evening gents,” Clint greeted them from his spot on the floor, only lifting his head from where he lay to flash them a blinding smile. Keeping a cool head and an unbothered air would hopefully keep the two from noticing his trepidation. “Care for a drink? I’ve got a foul brew working in that piss pot over there.” It seemed he couldn’t help but try to rile them up, no matter his own inner turmoil.

Clown’s lip curled in disgust at the same time Tiny’s brows creased and he bared his teeth. Clint could hear the rumbling growl, even as it cut in and out. He was still running on the high of being able to hear; Tiny's intimidation attempt not even phasing him. 

Stifling a laugh, Clint folded his good arm behind his head, shifting it until the strain in his neck was gone. It had been nearly a week since he’d left Natasha in Lundaviere, and he’d mostly recovered from the last bout and the days of walking; his shoulder and hips still gave him some occasional issues when he stretched and ran through his exercises.

Clown motioned for Clint to stand with a flick of his hand, still refusing to talk to him. With a heavy sigh, Clint stood and dusted off his breeches. He might be a mess on the inside, but damned if he’d let these guys see any sign of it.

With a few short steps, Tiny crossed the room to Clint and grabbed a hold of him by the bicep, hard enough that Clint was sure he’d have a massive bruise there. Before he was able to do anything to stop it, Clint was pulled to the door with a yelp.

There, Clown produced a pair of manacles and locked them onto Clint’s wrists, behind his back, while Tiny held him steady.

“Look, fellas… This really isn’t necessary,” Clint complained as one of the pins pinched the underside of his wrist, making him inhale sharply through his teeth.

They’d been doing a good job of making sure Clint didn’t have any real chance to get free. Hopefully they’d slip up sooner than later and give him the opportunity he’d need to get his hands on Buck.

The trio made their way down the hallways, Clint sandwiched in the middle, Tiny’s hand still tightly clutching his bicep. Neither were willing to talk to him as they walked.

Eventually, they came to a spiraling tower staircase. It was narrow enough that the three had to ascend it single file. They seemed to climb for an eternity, at least, it felt that way to Clint with how focused he was on keeping his balance with his hands behind him and Tiny offering 'support' with the occasional shove.

The staircase ended in a single iron door. It opened easily when Clown turned the heavy latch, barely even creaking. They entered a large room made up of smooth gray stone, carvings covering every part of the walls bathed in flickering torch light. A deeply unsettling feeling pooled in Clint's gut as he realized he'd seen these images before, growing when he failed to place when and where that might have been. Directly ahead of them, a large stained-glass window displayed a matching, no more soothing scene. Precise geometric angles portrayed a man with three rays of light bursting from his torso, surrounded by a sea of deep red glass, almost as though he were drowning in blood.

Even more prominently, was the pair of long rectangular daises in the center of the room, directly under a large opening in the ceiling. Bright moonlight streamed from above, illuminating the platforms in an ominous ring of light. 

Immediately, Clint was filled with a sense of cold dread and had to fight the urge to dig his heels in to keep himself out of the room. It was almost as though Clint could feel the fear and hate rolling out of the room in dark waves in his gut, freezing his blood in his veins. 

Yanked harshly forward, Clint nearly lost his footing as they stepped up to the body-length altars. Buck was seated on one of them, a tremor running through his body as he watched the trio approach.

“Clint, son, come have a seat,” Buck said conversationally, as if Clint had any choice in the matter. He gestured with an unsteady hand to the unoccupied altar. “The boys will help you get comfortable.”

“Uh, no…” Clint fought the building sense of unease, as well as the hands shoving him into the stone dais, his hips running painfully into the hard edge. “Get your hands off of me you sons of bitches!”

Thick, meaty fingers wound into Clint’s hair and pulled his head back sharply, forcing him to arch his back, which only put on display that his breathing was getting more and more uneven. Clown stepped into his field of vision, waving his finger at him condescendingly. His eyes flicked to Tiny and he gave him a single nod.

A whirl of motion and Clint’s world exploded in pain when Tiny slammed his head into something hard and unyielding. Pain lanced from his temple down to his toes. Sparkling lights danced in his eyes and inhibited his vision. He could feel himself being lifted up, and his limbs manipulated, but he couldn’t seem to do anything about it, his limbs were too uncoordinated.

By the time his head cleared, Clint found himself lying prone on the dais. His wrists had been freed from each other and attached to some point near his hips and his ankles were secured as well. Weakly shifting in his bonds, Clint realized they’d also put more bands of metal around his biceps, keeping him from sitting. Tiny loomed over him, baring his teeth in a sadistic smile as he reached for Clint’s face.

Still stunned from the blow, Clint couldn’t stop himself from flinching as the meaty finger came closer and pressed against the developing goose egg at his temple, making it sting. Clint hissed through his teeth and Tiny pulled back, showing Clint his own blood shining wetly on the tip of his finger. 

“Still not as bad as losing an eye though, right Tiny?” Clint sneered groggily.

Tiny’s dark smile morphed into one of irritation as he raised his fist over Clint’s chest. Clint tensed, preparing for the inevitable bone-crushing blow when Tiny paused.

“Njal!” Buck shouted with a wheeze. “I do still need him.”

Clint bit back the jumbled retorts that sprang to mind, doing his best to hide the fact that he could hear again. Anything could be an advantage.

Tiny - no _Njal_ (that would take getting used too) - looked down at him, teeth still bared and nose wrinkled.

Turning his head to look at the man made the room spin. Clint squeezed his eyes shut to fight off the wave of nausea that rolled through him. When he opened them again, Buck was facing a tall thin figure completely covered in a cloak, the hood drawn so far down their face was cast in a dark shadow.

Clint blinked stupidly at them. Where had this person come from and why were they here? Had they always been in the room with them? Whoever this was, they must be the real power behind all this, if the air of importance surrounding them was anything to go by. Even Tiny and Clown seemed cowed by the person. While locked in his cell, Clint had struggled to grasp the concept that Buck had amassed so much power in the years they’d been apart. 

Buck was speaking quietly to the cloaked figure, but Clint couldn’t make out any of the conversation, none of the words made sense. Buck gestured sharply with his hands. They didn't seem to be fighting, but they also didn't seem happy with each other.

Clown walked between the two daises, blocking Clint’s view of Buck and the stranger, carrying a small covered table, and set it down gently. The sense of unease was growing stronger. 

Clown stepped back, motioning for Tiny to follow him. Buck turned his head and gave Clint a satisfied smile. 

"If I'd known what you were before, I wouldn't have left you behind all this years ago," he said cryptically. 

Clint shifted in the manacles. "What I am is pissed." He hated how weak he sounded. 

Buck wheezed out a soft laugh. “I can’t say that I blame you son. I’d probably be pretty angry if my life weren’t my own either.” 

“What the fuck do you know about my life?" Clint spat angrily. "You might've shown me how to use a bow, but I chose to be better than scum like you."

"Ah, yes. That righteous inner light of yours,” Buck said with a sneer. “The one that refused to be extinguished, no matter what. The light that you’ll never be rid of.”

"What the fuck does that even mean?" Clint knew Buck was winding him up, but he couldn't stop himself. Every word that came from Buck’s mouth just added to Clint’s uneasiness and confusion.

“Oh, did your precious _brother_ never tell you the truth?” His expression grew colder and more cruel with each word. “Left to fend for yourself before you could even walk?”

“We may not be related by blood, but he’s still my brother!” Clint shouted, making his head throb in time with his erratic heartbeat. “Something you wouldn’t know shit about.”

“I do know that you don’t belong in this realm though. When I harness the energy produced by sending you back, I’ll regain my strength and be able to shift the balance of powers here. No longer will we have to do the bidding of the wealthy.”

The cloaked figure stopped their heated exchange when they walked to the table Clown had left, a pale hand, bleached nearly white in the pale moonlight, reached for the cover. Fondly, the boney fingers stroked it before pulling it away to reveal the wooden shaft of an arrow, made of sprigs of wood braided together. Clint licked his lips nervously, failing to soothe the cracked skin.

Somehow Clint knew it was made of mistletoe - even if he didn’t understand how - the sharp end was coated in something dark, like oil or dried blood. The eerie feeling of familiarity that had swamped him when he'd entered the room returned with a vengeance. He felt as if he'd seen this before; this particular piece of wood.

So focused on the almost-arrow, Clint nearly missed the ornate knife next to it. The blade was white and crystalline, while the handle was made of a contrasting gold and had delicate runes covering the entirety of it. There was also a small bowl with more runes carved into it, some dark liquid in it. The cloaked figure picked up the knife, before it approached Clint.

“Look, I don’t know what he’s holding over you, or paying you to do this, but you really don’t have to,” Clint tried reasoning with them. “I know people. I could help you.”

Now lying on his own dais, Buck wheezed out a laugh. “Oh son. This man came to _me_ for this.” The mirth in his eyes as genuine as it was unsettling.

So Buck hadn’t been the one to orchestrate all of this, confirming Clint’s earlier suspicions. He looked up at the man, now standing at his side, trying to see under the hood. With only the moonlight shining through the hole above them, he couldn’t make out anything.

The blade of the knife flashed in the man’s hand before he brought it to Clint’s chest. Clint couldn’t help but fight against his restraints.

“You still don’t have to do this.” He knew he was begging, but he liked the idea of being carved up less than he liked the idea of looking weak.

Clint raised his chin and swallowed thickly as the man caressed the hollow of his throat with the tip of the blade. Even though he couldn’t see the cloaked man’s face, Clint could feel the dark satisfaction at seeing such an involuntarily submissive move from him.

It was just as he opened his mouth to try bartering again that the man flicked his wrist, pulling a gasp from Clint, and sliced through the shirt. Clint froze, not even daring to breathe. It cut through the fabric easily, having no trouble sliding from his clavicle to the bottom hem. The man made quick work of cutting through the sleeves, leaving the ragged remains on the dais below Clint’s body.

When he set the knife down, Clint exhaled shakily, whatever was about to happen couldn’t bode well if they needed unhindered access to his bare skin. The man turned back to Clint, holding the bowl.

Clint shook his head. A litany of _bad bad bad_ running through his mind as the cloaked man dipped two fingers into the thick substance and began tracing out runes onto Clint’s exposed flesh. Most of them were being drawn on his shoulders, around his scars there. A few were drawn around his navel and on his cheeks and forehead as well, the man setting the bowl down next to Clint’s hip in order to harshly grab his jaw and hold him still. 

A humming current started flowing under Clint’s skin. It didn’t hurt, but it made it impossible to hold still. It was like a swarm of agitated bees inside of him. Belatedly, Clint heard the man standing over him muttering something. It was so soft that he had to strain his ears to hear any of it, and what he did hear didn’t make sense, like the man was talking backwards or something.

The man’s chanting grew louder and louder, but still, Clint couldn’t understand what he was saying. Buck was moaning faintly behind the man, who was now holding the stick of mistletoe in both hands, the sharpened tip pointed down at Clint. Green glittery trails of smoke danced around the man’s forearms and hands, tendrils lazily reaching to caress Clint’s chest.

Clint lifted his head to peer down the length of his body. The runes painted on his body were pulsing with a green light, growing in brightness as the man grew louder with his chanting. Abruptly, the cloaked figure stopped and the runes flashed once more before starting to creep into Clint’s skin in dark veins.

Buck’s moaning grew louder, more pained, drowning out Clint’s own harsh breathing. The man drew back his hood, revealing a pale face with high cheekbones and dark hair combed back, the tips brushing the tops of his shoulders. A cruel smile on his face revealed sharp teeth.

“Have no fear, brother,” the man said soothingly, as though he were hushing a child with a skinned knee. “Things will begin again before you know it."

Before Clint could even begin to puzzle out the cryptic comment, the dark-haired man drove the tip of the mistletoe into the knotted scar on Clint's right shoulder and began chanting again. Clint screamed as fiery pain engulfed him, spreading across his chest.

The pain spiked as the pointed stick was pulled back out, agonizingly slow. Clint pulled at the chains holding him down, sending fresh waves of misery pulsing in his shoulder. As he grit his teeth, Clint could see a droplet of his own blood drip thickly from the tip. 

With only a moment to try and regain his breath, the strange man stabbed him in the other shoulder, ignoring Clint’s struggles. His breath caught in lungs as the man dug it in further. Clint’s entire being was in agony. He thought he’d felt pain like this before, when Buck had left him for dead. Only this time, whatever ritual the man had started made it so much worse.

Although he tried, Clint couldn’t stop the screams from tearing out of his throat. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Clint registered a sharp pain on his chest, just over his heart. Compared to everything else he was feeling, it was barely enough to register.

Tears flowed from the corners of his eyes, trickling down and around the amber Strange had made for him. Cold fingers stroked the wet trails and down his cheek. It was such a counterpoint to the throbbing pain in his shoulders it made Clint’s head spin as his energy waned, seemingly draining from his body.

Clint must have blanked out for a bit, because the next thing he was aware of was the chains being removed. Between the blow to the head and whatever had just happened, Clint felt weaker than he could ever remember.

He felt boneless as Tiny - even in his tortured haze, Clint refused to call him Njal - and Clown pulled him down from the altar, his limbs flopping uselessly at his sides, fresh waves of pain rolling through his torso. The moonlight shining down on his exposed back somehow felt cold, especially with the hot rivulets of blood flowing from the wounds on his shoulders and chest.

With his head hung low, Clint was just barely able to make out an hourglass shaped rune through the thick blood over his heart. Glossy boots entered his narrow field of vision, encouraging him to slowly force his head up and meet the shockingly green eyes of the cloaked man.

With a cruel smile, he leaned forward, their faces so close that Clint could feel the warm puffs of air as he spoke. “When this is over, you can finally rest brother.”

Before he could process the words, Tiny hoisted him up for a better grip, making Clint’s vision blank out long enough that the man was gone when it returned. Buck appeared to be sleeping on the dais, Clint’s mind must be playing tricks on him, somehow looking stronger and healthier than he had seen him since his arrival days ago.

The mute duo ended up basically dragging Clint down the spiralling staircase, his feet only properly landing on every third step or so. Every misstep caused him to sag in their awkward hold reigniting the pain. By the time they reached the bottom, blood had started soaking into the waist of his breeches. The half dragged, barely walking pace continued all the way back to Clint’s dingey cell. When they tossed him onto the floor, he couldn’t hold in the pained wail that bounced around the small room.

Clint curled in on himself as the door locked with a clang, making his stomach curl and twist into more knots. He didn’t move any further from where he’d been dropped, in too much pain to make the effort.

*Njal - Giant

**Hourglass rune - Dag - Day; light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts!
> 
> Njal translates to 'Giant', which make s me chuckle
> 
> The hourglass rune means 'Dag' or 'Day' and is meant for light, daytime, and good things
> 
> Poor, poor, stupid Clint. Things aren't going like you thought they would, are they? 
> 
> Yo! I'm on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/harishe-art) Come take a look!
> 
> I'm also on discord! Harishe#6556


	15. Three different kinds of crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You may have once been my equal, but now you’re not worthy of licking the mud from my boots. You will not speak to a god in such a manner, you filthy churl,” the man spat, shifting from genial to wrathful in an instant. It hadn’t even looked like he’d moved, still balanced on the balls of his feet, leaning in towards Clint._
> 
> _Licking at his split lip, Clint could taste the bitter copper flavor of his own blood on the tip of his tongue. This guy was obviously unstable, he had to play this right. “Delusions of grandeur don’t actually make you a god,” he replied tersely, too tired to put any real venom behind the words, or apparently care what actually came out of his mouth. No chance of playing it right now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter does have a bit of a trigger warning, which is a first. There is a brief mention of suicidal ideations. It's literally one paragraph near the end.
> 
> Another **HUGE** thank you to my beta. Your notes make me better and everyone deserves to know that.

Clint pulled his legs tighter to his chest as he lay on the cold stone floor, trying desperately to conserve what little warmth he could. He couldn’t stop the trembling. The pain had barely receded to a tolerable point, but now the cold was creeping in. Into his fingers. Into his toes. 

For the first few minutes after Tiny and Clown dropped him in his cell, Clint had barely moved from where he’d landed. Whatever the man with Buck had done to him, it not only hurt, but seemed to have drained his energy. It felt as though he hadn’t slept in days - at that overtired point where even if he tried, he couldn’t sleep. Eventually, he managed to get upright and take stock of what had physically been done to him. 

The cloaked man had stabbed him unerringly in the center of the scars Buck had left on his shoulders years ago. The small hourglass figure that had been carved into his chest was shallower than it had felt while he’d been strapped to the altar, and had already stopped bleeding; the dried areas already flaking off.

He watched as small beads of blood oozed out of the twin wounds, not looking forward to moving his arms to try and get a better look. He stared for another minute, hollowly taking note of the way the dark liquid sluggishly emerged from the wound.

Gritting his teeth, Clint grunted and groaned as he reached for the wound with an unsteady hand, banging his head against the wall as he accidentally pressed into the wound. Gritting his teeth, he looked back down and pushed and pulled the skin around it to get a better angle. It didn’t look dirty, or even terribly deep. Neither of which stopped it from hurting.

He’d only just gotten his other hand to the second wound when the dull thud of the door latch rang through the room. Clint barely lifted his chin in time to see the door swing open. Expecting Tiny or Clown, Clint barely masked his surprise when the thin man from the tower - sans cloak - entered instead.

He walked a few steps into the room and peered down his nose at Clint, lip curled in disgust, as though he’d just stepped in manure. Clint tensed. The man had entered alone, with a sense of confidence that rolled off of him.

“Truly, you have been brought down low brother,” he said disdainfully, an uptight accent Clint hadn’t noticed before adding to his above-it-all demeanor.

“Yeah, it’s been pretty rough, _bro,_ ” Clint replied tiredly, not even pretending to resist the urge to poke at being called ‘brother’ again. “Although, I gotta wonder why.” Clint shifted himself higher onto the wall with a grimace, not liking the man looming over him again. 

Squatting down, the man idly picked at some nonexistent dirt under his perfectly manicured nail, no trace of blood or the dark liquid he’d painted onto Clint earlier. “Why?” he mused. “You ruined my life.” He dropped his hand and focused a cold gaze on Clint, sending a wave of chills down Clint’s spine. “Now I’m returning the favor.”

“I’m sorry for whatever you think I did to you, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never even met you…” Clint let the sentence trail off, hoping to prompt the man into providing a name. Some insight into his intent.

Scoffing, the man leaned forward, his nose wrinkling. “My dear brother, can you truly not see who I am?” 

The way he kept calling Clint ‘brother’ set warning bells off in the back of Clint’s mind, the word dripping with disdain. He shook his head. “I can see that you’re about three different kinds of crazy.”

A sharp pain bloomed in Clint’s cheek, tipping him sideways and making him cry out. The slap itself hadn’t been all that painful, despite his tooth cutting his lower lip, but the act of trying to stop his own fall sent a fresh reminder of his open wounds. Hissing through his teeth, Clint glared at the man, frustrated with how he’d been weakened by him. 

“You may have once been my equal, but now you’re not worthy of licking the mud from my boots. You will not speak to a god in such a manner, you filthy churl,” the man spat, shifting from genial to wrathful in an instant. It hadn’t even looked like he’d moved, still balanced on the balls of his feet, leaning in towards Clint.

Licking at his split lip, Clint could taste the bitter copper flavor of his own blood on the tip of his tongue. This guy was obviously unstable, he had to play this right. “Delusions of grandeur don’t actually make you a god,” he replied tersely, too tired to put any real venom behind the words, or apparently care what actually came out of his mouth. No chance of playing it right now. 

A muscle twitched in the man’s face before he stood with his shoulders back and a cold expression. “You useless creature. Do you not know the stories of old?” He spread his arms wide; performing on a stage for one. “I am Loki; son of Laufey, Thief of the Giants, and of Idunn's Apples, Forger of Evil, the Bound God, the God of Mischief,” he paused to point at Clint before coldly and proudly proclaiming, “Contriver of Baldur's Death.”

When he finished, it felt as though all the air had left Clint’s lungs. Somehow, he knew he was telling the truth, he could feel it in his being. The man standing before him was none other than the shapeshifting god of mischief that had been left in a cave, tied with his own entrails and venom dripping into his eyes for all eternity. How could he be here?

Something must have shown on Clint’s face because Loki’s dark expression shifted into one of satisfaction as he lowered his hands and lay them on his hips. “So you _do_ know the stories of old.”

“I know who you are,” Clint said quietly. His heart was beating a little too fast, leaping into his throat. “I don’t know why you’re here or what you want with _me_ though.”

Loki’s grin broadened, showing off the pointed tips of his canines. “I had heard such wondrous things about the _Amazing Hawkeye._ A master tactician, skilled assassin, and he never misses his shot,” he paused for dramatic effect, “Apparently all exaggerated. How else can you be so thick as to miss what is so plainly before you?”

Clint could feel the back of his neck warming with an embarrassed flush. “Why don’t you just spell it out for me then? Hmm?” he broke off with a hiss to shift into a less straining position. “You’re obviously much smarter than me.”

Abruptly, Clint was no longer leaning against the wall, but on his back in the middle of the cell, Loki hovering just above him. Clint hadn’t seen him move - hadn’t even felt _his own body_ move. One second, he was leaning pitifully against the wall, the next, halfway across the room. In the edges of Clint’s vision, thin, smoky tendrils of something intangible wafted around from the pair, lazy and without purpose. They were filled with the same subtle green shimmer he’d seen during whatever ritual Loki had performed earlier in the night.

“You were once the most beloved of all of us; by gods and humans alike,” Loki whispered darkly, caressing Clint’s split lip with the tip of his finger in a mockery of affection, making it sting. “So beloved, that Frigg sought to protect you from all when the Norns foresaw your death.”

Fighting to stay still, Clint could feel his heart beating faster, throbbing in time with his wounds. Natasha’s words from the dark cave floated through his mind, echoing ominously. 

_“Baldur was the most beloved of all the gods.”_

_“The only thing that was somehow overlooked, was mistletoe.”_

_“Loki helped to shoot Baldur in either shoulder…”_

_“With the third arrow, Loki provided an arrow made of mistletoe, this time aiming for Baldur’s heart.”_

“Ah, you’re finally coming to understand.” Loki said, voice like oil seeping over Clint’s skin, bringing a sweeping cold with it. “Yes, _brother,_ your death was what made Odin cast me from Asgard and bind me in that thrice-cursed cave, only a simple woman to tend to me, failing miserably at the most basic of tasks.” The last of his words hissed angrily through his teeth.

“But, I’m just… human,” Clint said breathlessly. “How could-” Clint howled when Loki pressed his thumb into one of the wounds on his shoulder, grinning maliciously. Hot lancing pain spread across his body, cutting off the half-formed question.

“Shush. You may be human now, but once, you were a _god._ Can you not see that your wounds have already begun to knit?” Loki tilted his head, as if studying an insect. “Did your _family_ never tell you of your origins?”

Gritting his teeth, Clint pushed against him weakly, his hand sliding uselessly off Loki’s shoulder without actually moving him. He knew that the wounds had stopped bleeding too easily. He hadn’t been able to apply the right pressure. That didn’t mean what Loki said was true. “Just… fuck off already,” he hissed. 

Loki laughed, the humor never touching his eyes. Even through his haze of pain, Clint could see the darkness in the other man. A creeping sickness that would somehow infect the world if left unchecked. “Oh, brother,” he cooed. “It seems they never told you. Those people were not your blood family, merely plebs blessed - or cursed - with the good fortune to find the reincarnation of a being so far above them.”

It was difficult to focus on his words through the agony of his finger still pressing viciously into his wound. “Still. My. Family,” he grit out, tossing his head from side to side as though it would somehow get him out from Loki’s thumb. Literally. 

Loki’s hand slid from Clint’s shoulder and stroked his cheek, leaving a trail of blood behind as his thumb grazed the corner of his mouth. It was almost tender, the rapid mood shifts finally too much and making Clint’s head spin. 

“And what a life they gave you!” Loki announced, rising smoothly from Clint’s pain-addled body. “Drinking. Abuse. Death. Abandonment. I was overjoyed to hear how much you suffered in this life when I found you.”

Clint had curled in on himself as Loki spoke, trying in vain to protect himself - to make himself smaller. It wasn’t as thought he could actually do anything to the god. That point had already been well made. He was faster. Stronger. Clint wasn’t even sure he would really stand a chance against him without the still healing wounds.

“Buck Chisholm, the pawn that he is, told me of all your suffering,” he said, nudging Clint’s back with the toe of his boot.

Uncurling slightly, Clint looked up at his torturer. The small satisfied smile on his face only serving to make Clint hate him that much more. “Glad your lackey is being so useful,” Clint muttered.

Loki scoffed. “He has been, yes. The fool is so desperate to fix the damage he’s done to himself with drink,” he said, grinning toothily, “It seems that merely your presence drives your caretakers to drink themselves to death, if his word is anything t.”

Angry heat bloomed like a thorny flower in Clint’s chest. Loki was wrong. He hadn’t made Buck, or his father, do any of the awful or cruel things that they did. He’d only been a child.

“Why did you kill Baldur? Murder your family?” The words were out of his mouth before the thought had fully formed in his mind.

His satisfied smile faltered, the darkness Clint had seen in him eclipsing everything else. They stared at each other for a long, tense moment, only the sounds of Clint’s harsh breathing left to fill the silence. A multitude of emotions crossed his face, too fast for Clint to decipher, before settling on disdainful arrogance. When he leaned down, Clint couldn’t suppress the flinch when he reached to casually wipe the blood from his hand on the knee of Clint’s breeches.

Loki stood gracefully and walked to the door, pausing when he opened it. “You may once have been a god,” he said coldly over his shoulder. “But now you cannot begin to fathom the reasons we may have for our actions.”

The door closed with an ominous bang, bouncing off the stone and into Clint’s bones, leaving him more tired and hollowed out than before. What Loki had told him couldn’t be true. He wasn’t the reincarnation of the god of light. Was he? Maybe if Clint hadn’t pissed him off so bad, he could’ve gotten more information out of him. As it was, it felt as though he’d just come in to gloat and see what Clint knew, a fact that twisted Clint’s stomach into knots.

Barney had said that they’d found Clint as a child; that someone had left _an infant_ in a field. _Who_ had left him there? And why? Surely he hadn’t just come into existence from nothing. Even if what Loki was telling him was true, it didn’t explain why they’d left him either.

Head spinning, Clint gingerly rolled onto his back. Shit was never easy for him. 

He never really slept the rest of the night, only managing a fitful doze through the pain and flood of information. Much to his relief, nobody else came to visit during the night. He wasn’t sure he could have taken another beating, or another round of gloating.

Clint was certain they were going to kill him, so he was surprised when Tiny entered the room to bring him more mush for food. Just like usual, Tiny dropped the bowl and the small bucket and turned to leave. He had just cracked the door open when Clint finally spoke up.

“What are they giving you?” his voice was rough from yelling, cracking in the middle of his question.

The door stopped as Tiny turned to look over his shoulder. “Pain,” was his strained reply. It was as if the words physically harmed him to get out. Clint might have felt a pang of sympathy for the brute, if it weren’t for the malicious grin he gave after.

Shocked, Clint didn’t have a chance to reply before Tiny made his exit. When he asked the question, he'd never actually expected a response - unsure if Tiny _could_ actually speak. He’d never heard anything beyond grunts and shouts from the giant man.

As they’d done before, they left Clint in his cell for the day. At first, Clint lay back on the floor, idly watching tiny motes of dust float through the beam of sunlight cast through the window. As long as he remained still, his shoulders would go into a numb haze from the pain. It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t as though Buck would be providing any kind of pain relief for him.

He wondered how much pain Natasha was in, after a week of healing. Refusing to believe that Strange hadn’t managed to save her; stubbornly clinging to the hope that Kate’s words of her surviving were law. It would be the only reason that if he failed to come back - if he died - that it would all be worth it. 

The dust motes grew fuzzy around the edges, disappearing in some cases, as his eyes lost focus. So far, he hasn't accomplished anything by getting himself captured. He hasn't harmed his enemies in the slightest. They keep hurting him and that ritual does not bode well. He’d never felt as though his life had meant anything before, but it seemed to mean a hell of a lot to them.

Idly, he toyed with the idea of just ending it all before they could complete this dark magic they’d started with him. Even knowing that it would put a stop to whatever they were planning, it just wasn’t something in his character. Clint Barton was many things, but he would never be considered someone to take the easy route. 

Whatever happened to him here, he knew that someway, somehow, he would end it all for good. He had to believe that. Otherwise it would end in his death with Buck and Loki able to carry out whatever nefarious plot they had laid out. That was something he couldn’t let happen.

Pulling himself from the floor, Clint searched the room again, shoving everything away from the edges, and running his fingers along every brick he could reach. He’d just about given up hope of finding anything at all when his fingernail caught on something metallic. A nail.

He’d almost missed it, going past it completely before it registered. Taking a half-step back, he crouched down and eyed it. A thin nail protruded from the mortar. Clint tried not to get excited over it, but it was the only thing he’d found that could even begin to come close to useful. It wasn't as if he could do any damage with the pieces of brick that had fallen and now littered the floor.

Digging his fingers in around it, the head of the nail dug into his skin as he pulled and wiggled. It started to move slowly, painfully so. As the rays of sunlight creeped down the walls, Clint’s heart pounded in his chest.

Blindly, his fingers scrabbled along the floor, searching for one of the scattered rocks. Hopefully he could dig into the mortar and pull the nail free. It took a few seconds, but he found one and worked it into the damp wall.

Clint felt as though he’d hardly taken a breath, so focused on the task at hand. It felt like an eternity, but finally he was able to pull it free. He huffed out a breathy chuckle and sat heavily on the floor, staring at the treasure pinched between his fingertips. It had taken a few long minutes of furious work to liberate it, but he’d managed it.

With this, Clint had _something_ ; more than he’d had before. He still had no idea what he was going to do once he actually got free, but the relief that washed over him was so refreshing. He finally felt like he could breathe.

Briefly, he considered trying to pick the lock on the door. If he could get out now, he might have a bit of time before they discovered him missing. A quick glance at the door reminded him why it wasn’t possible; there was no way to open the door from the inside.

Now Clint’s biggest obstacle was how to hide it. Considering it for a few seconds, he tore a small hole into the waistband of his breeches, his numb and torn fingers fumbling and taking longer than it should have. He worked it into place, finally satisfied that it wouldn’t be found or fall out.

All he had to do now was wait. Wait to be collected and marched to his death. Hopefully they’d feel more secure with him injured, but Clint couldn’t count on that. For now, he had his small treasure, and a glimmer of a chance, as long as he waited for the right moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HO~LY SHIT!  
> Is that a... chapter count?  
> This must be serious business now...
> 
> Yo! I'm on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/harishe-art) Come take a look!
> 
> I'm also on Discord, with a brand new server! It's focused on our lovely assassin trio in any and all combinations. Interested? Click the [LINK HERE!](https://discord.gg/4jXBxaJdmf)


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